"I believe that it is, most certainly. That profound wisdom; that toleration of the weaknesses of men; that sympathy with men, who cannot fathom the mysteries of life, and the struggle for life of all things that love life; that spirit I call God, and I don't think that a better name has been found for it."
"It--for /it/? You think of God as merely a force of nature?"
"Just the contrary. God is the spirit that lives in warfare with nature. Great Heavens! isn't that the truth of which the whole Bible is the allegory? Nature and nature's laws constitute the Devil. God is the opposing Force. It is a law of nature to kill off the weak, to crush that which has fallen in the struggle. It is God who helps the weak--who helps the feeble."
"But merely a force?"
"Oh, I have no private opinion on that part of the question. I am not like that modern philosopher who fancied he had solved the whole problem by spelling God with a small g. But don't you think that we have gone quite far enough in our exchange of confidence for a first meeting? You are what the Italians call /simpatica/--that is, more than merely sympathetic. You look at one, and lead one on to confide in you as one does not confide in most girls. You are a thoroughly dangerous young woman, Miss Ayrton, though you are Mrs. Linton's dearest friend. By the way, can you make her confide in you?"
There seemed to be a measure of curiosity, not to say anxiety, in the tone of this inquiry.
"Well, she makes me confide in her. I wonder if that is just the same thing," said Phyllis.
"It's not exactly the same thing," said he. "But it's the proper course for dearest friends to adopt toward each other. For the maintenance of a firm friendship between any two persons, only one should confide; the other should be strictly the confidante. By the way, I wonder what is the average duration of the dearest friendship between two women."
"Why should it have any limits?" said Phyllis gravely. "What is the duration of the friendship between two men?"
"It mostly depends on when the woman makes her appearance," said he, with a laugh.
"Ah! So that---- Ah, never mind. Ella was my dearest friend before Mr. Linton put in an appearance."
"And he was mine before she put in an appearance," said he.
"I didn't know that," said Phyllis.
"There, you see, is my contention borne out," said he. "You are the one who confides; she is the one who receives the confidences, and respects them, I'm sure. I hope that you will do the same, Miss Ayrton. Don't let anyone know that I confided in you all that I think on the subject of the old Adam and the new Eve."
"No one except Ella Linton, and you know that I can keep nothing from her if we are to remain dearest friends. Perhaps she knows already the limits of your belief, Mr. Courtland."
"She does--she does."
At that moment Ella Linton came up with Lord Earlscourt.
"Has Mr. Courtland been telling you all about the bird of paradise?" she asked of Phyllis, while she waved the tail feathers of the loveliest of the birds of paradise before her face.
"The bird?--not the /bird/," laughed Phyllis.
"But the topic was paradise?" Ella joined in the laugh--yes, to some extent.
"I talked of Adam--the old one of that name," said Mr. Courtland.
"And Eve--the new one of that name," said Phyllis.
"Theology is in the air!" cried Ella. "Even the stage of a theater is not free from the taint. It must be the case of Mr. Holland. Where is Mr. Holland, by the way, Lord Earlscourt?"
"I haven't seen him for some time. He must have gone away. I'm not Mr. Holland's keeper, thank Heaven!" said Lord Earlscourt, with heartfelt devoutness.
"Now you know that everyone holds you accountable for what he has done!" said Ella.
"Then that's just where everyone makes a mistake," said he. "Great Lord! is it your idea of British justice to persecute the wrong man?
Why doesn't the bishop do his duty? What do we pay him for?"
"We won't abandon our charity at the call of theology," said Ella.
"Theology--represented by Lord Earlscourt," said Mr. Courtland.
"You don't know how I've been abused during the past fortnight, indeed you don't," moaned Lord Earlscourt. "Why, there's my own wife, she abused me like a cab-driver because George Holland had been with us on the platform when the Chinese teetotalers came here to protest against the public houses in England; she says that his backsliding will put back the cause a quarter of a century. Then there are the other churchwardens; they look on me as if I had been ****** a suggestion to raffle the sacred plate. George Holland has a run for his money, but I've had no fun out of it."
"It does seem hard," said Courtland. "But it's plain that the case calls for persecution, and why not persecute you? Someone must be persecuted, you'll admit."
"Then why the--"
"I thought that your good old Bunyip would look in on us before long," said Courtland. "There's no possibility of discussing delicate points in theology without him."
"I think we had better go home," said Ella.
"We must have some consideration for our host," said Courtland. "We didn't all play the part of /Cagliostro/ to-night."
During the movement of her circle and the adjustment of wraps, preparatory to the delivery of a valedictory word of congratulation to the great actor, Ella said in a low tone to Herbert Courtland:
"Cagliostro? No; we didn't all play the part; but--well, Cagliostro was a weaver of spells."
There was a pause before he said:
"Yes, but the art did not die with him. He had a daughter to whom he taught his art."
"Not that I ever heard of," said she. "What do you think of Phyllis Ayrton?"
"I think that she is the dearest friend of my dearest friend," he replied.
"And I should like her to become the dearest friend of my dearest friend."
"That would be impossible," he said.
Then the felicitous valedictory word was said to the great actor and actress, and Mrs. Linton's carriage received Phyllis. Lord Earlscourt took a seat in Mr. Courtland's hansom.
