s. Life is not an empty dream. She took out her handkerchief,
redolent with lascivious patchouli, and placed it in her bosom--a spot
of whiteness against the black.... She sat herself down to wait.

There was a knock and a ring at the door, timid, as befitted a
clergyman; and the servant-girl showed in Mr Evans. He was a thin and
short young man, red faced, with a long nose and weak eyes, looking
underfed and cold, keeping his shoulders screwed up in a perpetual
shiver. He was an earnest, God-fearing man, spending much money in
charities, and waging constant war against the encroachments of the
Scarlet Woman.

'I think I'll just take my coat off, if you don't mind, Mrs Clinton,' he
said, after the usual greetings. He folded it carefully, and hung it
over the back of a chair; then, coming forward, he sat down and rubbed
the back of his hands.

'I asked my 'usband to stay in because you wanted to see 'im, but he
would go out. 'Owever'--Mrs Clinton always chose her language on such
occasions--''owever, 'e's promised to return at four, and I will say
this for 'im, he never breaks 'is word.'

'Oh, very well!'

'May I 'ave the pleasure of offering you a cup of tea, Mr Evans?'

The curate's face brightened up.

'Oh, thank you so much!' And he rubbed his hands more energetically than
ever.

Tea was brought in, and they drank it, talking of parish matters, Mrs
Clinton discreetly trying to pump the curate. Was it really true that
Mrs Palmer of No. 17 Adonis Road drank so terribly?

At last Mr Clinton came, and his wife glided out of the room, leaving
the curate to convert him. There was a little pause while Mr Evans took
stock of the clerk.

'Well, Mr Clinton,' he said finally, 'I've come to talk to you about
yourself.... Your wife tells me that you have adopted certain curious
views on religious matters; and she wishes me to have some conversation
with you about them.'

'You are a man of God,' replied Mr Clinton; 'I am at your service.'

Mr Evans, on principle, objected to the use of the Deity's name out of
church, thinking it a little blasphemous, but he said nothing.

'Well,' he said, 'of course, religion is a very good thing; in fact, it
is the very best thing; but it must not be abused, Mr Clinton,' and he
repeated gravely, as if his interlocutor were a naughty schoolboy--'it
mustn't be abused. Now, I want to know exactly what you views are.'

Mr Clinton smiled gently.

'I 'ave no views, sir. The only rule