"It _is_ difficult," Lothian said, "but that's because so few people are psychologists, and so few people--the Priests often seem to me less than any one--understand the meaning of Christianity. But because David was a murderer and an adulterer will you tell me that the psalms are insincere? Surely, if all that is good in a man or woman is to be invalidated by the presence of contradictory evil, then Beelzebub must sit enthroned and be potent over the affairs of men!" Mr. Amberley rose from his chair. His face had quite lost its watchful expression. It was genial and pleased as before. "King David has a great deal to answer for," he said. "I don't know what the unorthodox and the 'live-your-own-life' school would do without him. But let us go into the drawing room." With his rich, hearty laugh echoing under the Waggon roof, the big man thrust his arm through Lothian's. "There are two girls dying to talk to the poet!" he said. "That I happen to know! My daughter Muriel reads your books in bed, I believe! and her friend Miss Wallace was saying all sorts of nice things about you at dinner. Come along, come along, my dear boy." The two men left the dining room, and their voices could be heard in the hall beyond. Toftrees lingered behind for a moment with young Dickson Ingworth. The boy's face was flushed. His eyes sparkled with excitement and the three glasses of champagne he had drunk at dinner were having their influence with him. He was quite young, ingenuous, and filled with conceit at being where he was--dining with the Amberleys, brought there under the ægis of Gilbert Lothian, chatting confidentially to the great Herbert Toftrees himself! His immature heart was bursting with pride, Pol Roger, and satisfaction. He hadn't the least idea of what he was saying--that he was saying something frightfully dangerous and treacherous at least. "I say, Mr. Toftrees, isn't Gilbert splendid? I could listen to him all night. He talks like that to me sometimes, when he's in the mood. It's like Walter Pater and Dr. Johnson rolled into one. And then he sort of punctuates it with something dry and brown and freakish--like Heine in the 'Florentine Nights'!" With all his eagerness to hear more--the quiet malice in him welling up to understand and pin down this Gilbert Lothian--Toftrees was forced to pause for a moment. He knew that he could never have expressed himself as this enthusiastic and excited boy was able to do. Ingworth was a pupil then! Lothian could inspire, and was already founding a school . . . "You know Mr. Lothian very well, I suppose?" "Oh, yes. I go and stay with Gilbert in the country a lot. I'm nearly always there! I am like a brother to him--he was an only child, you know. But isn't he wonderful?" "Marvellous!" Toftrees chuckled as he said the word. He couldn't help it. Misunderstood as his chuckle was, it did the trick and brought confidence in full flood from the careless and excited boy.