To add to her dislike Mr.Fane-Smith was something of an epicure and had a most fastidious palate.Now, Erica's father thought scarcely anything about what he ate it was indeed upon record that he had once in a fit of absence dined upon a plate of scraps intended for Friskarina, while engaged in some scientific discussion with the professor.Mr.Fane-Smith, on the other hand, though convinced that the motto of all atheists was "Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die," criticized his food almost as severely as he criticized human beings.The mulligatawny was not to his taste.The curry was too not.He was sure the jelly was made with that detestable stuff gelatine; he wished his wife would forbid the cook to use it if she had seen old horses being led into a gelatine manufactory as he had seen, she would be more particular.
Interspersed between these compliments was conversation which irritated Erica even more.It was chiefly about the sayings and doings of people whom she did not know, and the doings of some clergyman in a neighboring town seemed to receive severe censure, for Mr.Fane-Smith stigmatized him as "A most dangerous man, a Pelagian in disguise." However, he seemed to be fond of labeling people with the names of old heresies, for, presently, when Rose said something about Mr.Farrant, her father replied contemptuously:
Every one knows, my dear, that Mr.Farrant holds unorthodox views.
Why, a few years ago he was an atheist, and now he's a mere Photinian.
As no one but Mr.Fane-Smith had the faintest idea what a "Photinian" meant, the accusation could neither be understood nor refuted.Mrs.Fane-Smith looked very uncomfortable, fearing that her niece might feel hurt at the tone in which "He was an atheist,"had been spoken; and indeed Erica's color did rise.
"Is that Mr.Farrant the member?" she asked.
"Yes," replied her aunt, apprehensively."Do you know him?""Not personally, but I shall always honor him for the splendid speech he made last year on religious toleration," said Erica.
Mr.Fane-Smith raised his eyebrows for the same speech had made him most indignant.However, he began to realize that, before Erica could become a patient recipient of his opinions, like his wife and daughter, he must root out the false ideas which evidently still clung to her.
"Mr.Farrant is no doubt a reformed character now," he admitted.
"But he is far from orthodox; far from orthodox! At one time I am told that he was one of the wildest young fellows in the neighborhood, no decent person would speak to him, and though no doubt he means well, yet I could never have confidence in such a man.""I have heard a good deal about him from my friends the Osmonds,"said Erica, stimulated as usual to side with the abused."Mr.
Osmond thinks him the finest character he ever knew.""Is that the clergyman you told me of?" interposed Mrs.Fane-Smith, anxious to turn the conversation.
But her husband threw in a question, too.
"What, Charles Osmond, do you mean the author of 'Essays on Modern Christianity?""Yes," replied Erica.
"I don't know that he is much more orthodox than Mr.Farrant," said Mr.Fane-Smith; "I consider that he has Noetian tendencies."Erica's color rose and her eyes flashed.
"I do not know whether he is what is called orthodox or not," she said; "but I do know that he is the most Christ-like man I ever met."Mr.Fane-Smith looked uncomfortable.He would name any number of heresies and heretics, but, except at grace, it was against his sense of etiquette to speak the name of Christ at table..Even Rose looked surprised, and Mrs.Fane-Smith colored, and at once made the move to go.
On the plea of fetching some work, Erica escaped to her own room, and there tried to cool her cheeks and her temper; but the idea of such a man as Mr.Fane-Smith sitting in judgment on such men as Mr.
Farrant and Charles Osmond had thoroughly roused her, and she went down still in a dangerous state a touch would make her anger blaze up.
"Are you fond of knitting?" asked her aunt, ****** room for her on the sofa, and much relieved to find that her niece was not of the unfeminine "blue" order.
"I don't really like any work," said Erica, "but, of course, a certain amount must be done, and I like to knit my father's socks."Mr.Fane-Smith, who had just joined them, took note of this answer, and it seemed to surprise and displease him, though he made no remark.
"Did he think that atheists didn't wear socks? Or that their daughters couldn't knit?" thought Erica to herself, with a little resentful inward laugh.
The fact was that Mr.Fane-Smith saw more and more plainly that the niece whom his wife was so anxious to adopt was by no means his ideal of a convert.Of course he was really and honestly thankful that she had adopted Christianity, but it chafed him sorely that she had not exactly adopted his own views.He was a man absolutely convinced that there is but one form of truth, and an exceedingly narrow form he made it, for all mankind.He Mr.Fane-Smith had exactly grasped the whole truth, and whoever swerved to the right or to the left, if only by a hair's breadth, was, he considered, in a dangerous and lamentable condition.Ah! He thought to himself, if only he had had from the beginning the opportunity of influencing Erica, instead of that dangerously broad Charles Osmond.It did not strike him that he HAD had the opportunity ever since his return to England, but had entirely declined to admit an atheist to his house.Other men had labored, and he had entered into the fruit of their labors, and not finding it quite to his taste, fancied that he could have managed much better.
