. He
could have represented but a shadow to them, even though the steadily
waxing light of the moon fell directly upon his head and shoulders; and
he rightly divined that, as other people besides the inhabitants of
Brineweald Park would probably enjoy the right of using the grounds,
they could not possibly tell who he was.

Gradually the discussion was resumed.

"What you don't seem to see," said a voice, which to Lord Henry appeared
to reveal the arrogance of its owner, "is that your Inner Light is but a
vague and vapid abstraction, a mere whiff of the whisky bottle, but not
the whisky itself."

Here followed a delighted feminine laugh, full of music and malice.

"And how do you hope," continued the arrogant voice, "ever to be able to
build anything upon a vaporous abstraction? What authority can a spook
have? What appeal to love, to fear, to reverence, to worship?"

"Come to bed, Gerald!" said a rather sweet feminine voice, which was
half-drowned in the general laughter it seemed to provoke. "These
discussions never lead to anything, and I'm sick of them. They only
disturb your sleep."

"Half a minute, Mrs. Tribe," said another man's voice, which Lord Henry
had not heard before, "we have reached an interesting point here. Do let
us just settle that!"

"But my husband can only feel these things," continued the soft sweet
female voice, "he cannot argue about them. You only laugh at him, so
what's the good?"

"I'm not laughing, am I?" said the arrogant voice.

"No, but you make others laugh," persisted the soft sweet voice.

"Leave them to me," interposed a weak male voice, which Lord Henry
recognised immediately as that of the Incandescent Gerald. And there was
a note so pathetic in the feeble strains of it, that the listener could
not help thinking of a hare being overtaken by harriers.

"How can you invite the enlightened nineteenth century to accept the
idea of a godhead that is anything else than an abstraction?" continued
the weak male voice. "Why, to personify your god is to limit him. How
can a god be limited?"

"Bravo, old Tribe!" cried a boy's voice, "that's a jolly good point. Now
what have you got to say to that, Malster?"

"To understand him at all," replied the arrogant voice, which Lord Henry
now concluded must be Denis Malster's, "is in any case to limit him to
the compass of your understanding, even if that can only grasp a monkey
on a stick; so why not proceed to personal limitations at