Rosalie’s voice was changed from hot to cold. Miss Crokerly heard it with surprise, and a silence must have fallen had not Sir John, whose mind ranged on different topics, put in suddenly: “I hear that it is quite true the Great High Priest intends to resign office.” “I have heard the same thing,” said Mr. Barringcourt. “It is a very unusual occurrence.” “Did you hear the reason of it?” asked Sir John. “I believe it has something to do with the Feast of White Souls. The episode was rather unfortunate. A great many are in favour of his resignation.” “Might I ask your opinion?” said Sir John. “Yes. I think the Great High Priest should be above scandal, and he is evidently not.” And he looked at Rosalie, and his eyes were laughing, though his face and voice were as serious as those of a judge. The old distaste rose in her, as of some dumb thing against a cruel and powerful oppressor. But she said: “Do you indulge in scandal, Mr. Barringcourt? I thought it was the recreation of idle women.” “Oh, no,” he answered, with the coolness of rudeness. “Idle women in these parts are known by the sharpness of their tongues.” “I’m very sorry,” she answered, suddenly changing in tone and manner, “but I can’t help liking the Great High Priest; and as for Golden Priest Alphonso—I detest him.” “Oh, dear! dear!” said Miss Crokerly, with agitation, laying her hand on Rosalie’s knee. “You must not talk like that, Rosalie, indeed, you must not. It is not usual. Remember he is Mr. Barringcourt’s friend, and bears an excellent reputation.” But as the carriage drew up, she stopped speaking of necessity. “You will drive on, will you not?” asked Sir John. “No, thank you. I’ll get out, and borrow whatever Miss Crokerly cares to lend me. I never had a cold in my life. The experience would be new to me.” So he came with them into the house, and seemed in no particular hurry to depart. Rosalie said to him: “Will you do me a favour, Mr. Barringcourt?” “To the best of my ability.” “Then give me one good point in the character of your friend.” “Which friend?” “The Golden Priest.” “He is a man of great integrity.” “What’s that?” “Honour.” “What’s that?” Rosalie’s questions were not contemptuous; they were put with a great desire to find out. He shrugged his shoulders. “There you have me,” he answered. “I’m sure I don’t know. The word generally speaks for itself to all but the ignorant.” “Then you cannot defend him on the strength of it?” “No; he is clever enough to defend himself, I hope. You are wearing a very pretty and uncommon ornament, Miss Paleaf.” “It is not an ornament. It is alive, and one of my dearest friends.” “Such a friend is rather questionable on Lucifram.” “Why?” “The Serpent has a weakness for frogs. In a natural state they form part of its food.” “My friend has powers of self-defence as well as yours.” “The Serpent has a very big mouth.” “Yes. And is ambitious enough to prefer men to frogs upon occasion.”