From an abstract point of view, Mrs. Wyverne would have supported Miss Robins' opinion; but she never could lose sight of the fact that she was herself one of the Randolphs of Castle Hill, being only sister to Giles' grandfather. And though, as a matter of theory, she would have maintained that questions of descent like questions of "looks" were unimportant, it gave her no small pleasure to see again the head of her family, and to find him in many respects what she would have wished. "A singularly fine-looking man," she observed. "He gives the impression of one who may be trusted." Barbara, who, in imitation of her friend, was a systematic man-hater, spoke tartly, "No men are to be trusted—least of all men without religion." "How do you know Giles has no religion?" asked Phyllys. "He may make a profession. There is no reality in it." "No. He carries the hall-mark of an essentially worldly nature." Miss Robins was so pleased with the wording of her own sentence that she made mental note of it for future use. Phyllys opened indignant lips and shut them again. What was the use of remonstrance? Nothing ever shook Barbara or Miss Robins in their judgments upon others. Moreover, the latter was delivering herself of an exhortation. "He may be outwardly fine-looking, but what of that? What of mere looks?" she inquired. "What signifies the body? That poor miserable husk! The handsomest men in feature, the most agreeable in manner, are often the most depraved. Dear Mrs. Wyverne, 'you' know the world well enough to understand. Mere appearance—face, manner, dress,—how unimportant these things!" Mrs. Wyverne assented as in duty bound, though not without an inward reservation. "We are called upon to ignore the body. 'I' have learnt to ignore it," declared Miss Robins, with an air of fervent conviction. "All that signifies is the spiritual part of one's self. The rest is dust and ashes—'mere' dust and ashes." She swayed impressively on her chair. "If the body isn't of consequence, I wonder why one should care whether one has hot or cold tea, or whether one's dinner is nicely cooked," questioned Phyllys, laying her finger on the other's weak point. Miss Robins inspected her from a moral pinnacle. "That is different. To care for one's health is a duty. I am speaking of the vanity of minding about bodily appearance—whether one is good-looking or plain—seeking to be admired. What do such things matter?" "I should have said they mattered a good deal," declared Phyllys, standing up. "I 'love' beautiful people. The world is beautiful, and God made people as well as things. I can't see why He should like 'things' to be lovely, and not care if people are hideous and disagreeable." Then she fled, not escaping the comment, "Really, Phyllys is sadly irrev—"