Dr Dudley was amused with himself for talking in this strain; but in his present mood he would have discussed the minister with his horse or his dog, had either of them been his sole companion; and besides, he was interested to see how Mona would take his character-sketch. Would she understand his nineteenth-century jargon? Her answer was intelligent if non-committal. "He must be a man of sense and of self-repression," she said quietly. "Well, he does not preach the survival of the fittest and the action of environment, certainly; but that is just where the pathos of it comes in. If he were the man he thinks he is, he would preach those things in spite of himself, and without his people finding it out. The fact is, that in the course of his life he has assimilated two doctrines, and only two,--Justification by Faith--or his own version of the same,--and Baptism by Immersion as a profession of Faith. Anything else that he has acquired, or will acquire, is the merest accretion, and not a part of himself at all." "In other words, he resembles ninety-nine-hundredths of the human race." Dudley laughed. "Perhaps," he said. "Poor Stuart! I believe that in every new hearer he sees a possible interesting young sceptic, on whom he longs to try the force of concession. Such a tussle is the Ultima Thule of his ambition." "It seems a pity that it should not be realised. The interesting young sceptic is a common species enough nowadays, and he rarely has any objection to posing in that capacity." Dr Dudley had not been studying her for nothing all morning. Her tone jarred on him now, and he looked at her with his quick, keen glance. "I wonder how long it is----" he said, and then he decided that the remark was quite unwarrantable. Mona's stiffness thawed in a quiet laugh. "Since I was an interesting young sceptic myself?" she said. "I suppose I did lay myself open to that. Oh, it is a long, long time! I don't find it easy to build a new Rome on the ashes of one that has been destroyed." "Don't you!" he said, with quick comprehension. "I think I do, rather. It is such a ghastly sensation to have no Rome. 'Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul--'" "Go on," said Mona. "'Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past. Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven by a dome more vast; Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!'" Then suddenly it flashed on Mona wherein his great charm lay. He had one of the most beautiful voices she had ever heard. "We might strike down to the beach here," he said, "and go home by the braes. It is ever so much pleasanter." "Not to-day, I think," said Mona; but what she meant was, "Not with you."