of the girl who is on the side of the Bible."

"I am certainly on the side of the Bible."

"And so am I. So I will look for you to be by my side on Tuesday
week, and as often as you please in the meantime. By the way, you will
probably meet Herbert Courtland at our house. He is the New Guinea man,
you know."

"Of course I know. You talk of wanting heroes in orthodoxy at your
house, while you have Mr. Courtland, the New Guinea explorer, drinking
his tea at your elbow? Oh, go away!"

"I hope you will like him. We saw a good deal of him in Italy, and will
probably see a good deal of him here."

"I'm certain to like him: you like him."

"Ah, that's what you said to the young women who put off their colors
and took to sackcloth in the presence of Mr. Holland. Don't be too sure
that you will like any man because other women like him. Now, I have,
as usual, remained too long with you. I'm greatly impressed with the
situation of the moment. I don't say that I think you are wrong, mind
you. Girls should always be on the side of the Bible. At any rate you
have, I repeat, _la physionomie du role_, and you can't be far astray if
you act up to it. Good-bye, my dearest."

CHAPTER VII.

THE DEFENSE OF HOLLAND.

Ella Linton drove to a certain shop not far from Piccadilly,--the only
shop where the arranging of feathers is treated as a science independent
of the freaks of fashion,--and at the door she met a tall man with the
complexion of mahogany but with fair hair and mustache. People nudged
one another and whispered his name as they walked past him before
standing at the shop window, pretending to admire the feathers, but in
reality to glance furtively round at the man.

The name that they whispered to one another after the nudge was Herbert
Courtland.

He took off his hat--it was a tall silk one, but no one who knew
anything could avoid feeling that it should have been a solar
toupee--when Mrs. Linton stepped from her victoria.

"Oh, you here!" said she. "Who on earth would expect to see you here?"

"You," said he.

"What?"

"You asked me a question. I answered it."

She laughed as they walked together to the door of the feather shop.

"It appears to me that you have a very good opinion of yourself and a
very bad one of me," she remarked, smiling up to his face.

"That's just where you make a mistake," said he.

"How?"

"If I did not think well of you I should not have ordered Parkinson to
make you a f