We Two [131]
"I do know," he said. "It was this very society which goaded me into a sort of wild rebellion years ago. I deserved its bad opinion in a measure, and you do not, but it was unfair enough to make one pretty desperate."
"If they were actual saints one might endure it," cried Erica. "But to have such a man as my father condemned just as hearsay by people who are living lazy, wasteful lives is really too much. I came to Greyshot expecting at least unity, at least, peace in a Christian atmosphere, and THIS is what I get."
Donovan listened in silence, a great sadness in his eyes. There was a pause; then Erica continued: "You think I speak hotly. I cannot help it. I think I do not much mind what they do to me, but it is the injustice of the thing that makes one wild, and worst of all, the knowing that this is what drives people into atheism this is what dishonors the name of Christ."
"You are right," he replied, with a sigh; "that IS the worst of it. I have come to the conclusion that to be tolerant to the intolerant is the most difficult thing in life."
"You must have plenty of practice in this dreadful place," said Erica.
He smiled a little.
"Why, to be seen talking to ME will make people say all sorts of evil of you," she added. "I wish I had thought of that before."
"You wouldn't have spoken to me?" asked Donovan, laughing. "Then I am very glad it didn't occur to you. But about that you may be quite easy; nothing could make them think much worse of me than they do already. I began life as the black sheep of the neighborhood, and it is easier for the Ethiopian to change his skin than for a man to live down the past in public opinion. I shall be, at any rate, the dusky gray sheep of the place to the end of my life."
There was no bitterness, no shade of complaint in his tone; he merely stated a fact. Erica was amazed; she knew that he was about the only man who attempted to grapple with the evil and degradation and poverty of Greyshot.
"You see," he continued, with a bright look which seemed to raise Erica into purer atmosphere, "it is not the public estimation which makes a man's character. There is one question, which I think we ought never to ask ourselves, and that is 'What will people think of me?' It should be instead: 'How can I serve?'"
"But if they take away your power, how can you serve?"
"They can't take it away; they may check and hinder for a time, that is all. I believe one may serve always and everywhere."
"You don't mean that I can serve that roomful of enemies in there?"
"That is exactly what I do mean," he answered, smiling a little.
In the meantime, Lady Caroline was apologizing to Mr. Cuthbert.
"I don't know when I have been so vexed!" she exclaimed. "It is really too bad of Mrs. Fane-Smith. I had no idea that the Burne-Jones angel I promised you was the daughter of that disgraceful man. What a horrible satire, is it not?"
"Pray, don't apologize," said Mr. Cuthbert. "It was really rather amusing than otherwise, and I fancy the young lady will be in no great hurry to force her way into society again."
He laughed a soft, malicious, chuckling laugh.
"I should hope not, indeed," said Lady Caroline, indignantly. "Where has she disappeared to?"
"Need you ask?" said Mr. Cuthbert, smiling. "Our revered member secured her at once, and has been talking to her in the conservatory for at least half an hour, hatching radical plots, I dare say, and vowing vengeance on all aristocrats."
"Really it is too shocking!" said Lady Caroline. "Mr. Farrant has no sense of what is fitting; it is a trait which I have always noticed in Radicals. He ought, at least to have some respect for his position."
"Birds of a feather flock together," suggested Mr. Cuthbert, with his malicious smile.
"Well, I don't often defend Mr. Farrant," said Lady Caroline. "But he comes of a good old family, and, though a Radical, he is at least respectable."
Lady Caroline knew absolutely nothing about Erica, but uttered the last sentence, with its vague, far-reaching,