To add to her dislike Mr. Fane-Smith was something of an epicure and had a most fastidious palate. Now, Erica's father thought scarcely anything about what he ate it was indeed upon record that he had once in a fit of absence dined upon a plate of scraps intended for Friskarina, while engaged in some scientific discussion with the professor. Mr. Fane-Smith, on the other hand, though convinced that the motto of all atheists was “Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die,” criticized his food almost as severely as he criticized human beings. The mulligatawny was not to his taste. The curry was too not. He was sure the jelly was made with that detestable stuff gelatine; he wished his wife would forbid the cook to use it if she had seen old horses being led into a gelatine manufactory as he had seen, she would be more particular. Interspersed between these compliments was conversation which irritated Erica even more. It was chiefly about the sayings and doings of people whom she did not know, and the doings of some clergyman in a neighboring town seemed to receive severe censure, for Mr. Fane-Smith stigmatized him as “A most dangerous man, a Pelagian in disguise.” However, he seemed to be fond of labeling people with the names of old heresies, for, presently, when Rose said something about Mr. Farrant, her father replied contemptuously: Every one knows, my dear, that Mr. Farrant holds unorthodox views. Why, a few years ago he was an atheist, and now he's a mere Photinian. As no one but Mr. Fane-Smith had the faintest idea what a “Photinian” meant, the accusation could neither be understood nor refuted. Mrs. Fane-Smith looked very uncomfortable, fearing that her niece might feel hurt at the tone in which “He was an atheist,” had been spoken; and indeed Erica's color did rise. “Is that Mr. Farrant the member?” she asked. “Yes,” replied her aunt, apprehensively. “Do you know him?” “Not personally, but I shall always honor him for the splendid speech he made last year on religious toleration,” said Erica. Mr. Fane-Smith raised his eyebrows for the same speech had made him most indignant. However, he began to realize that, before Erica could become a patient recipient of his opinions, like his wife and daughter, he must root out the false ideas which evidently still clung to her. “Mr. Farrant is no doubt a reformed character now,” he admitted. “But he is far from orthodox; far from orthodox! At one time I am told that he was one of the wildest young fellows in the neighborhood, no decent person would speak to him, and though no doubt he means well, yet I could never have confidence in such a man.” “I have heard a good deal about him from my friends the Osmonds,” said Erica, stimulated as usual to side with the abused. “Mr. Osmond thinks him the finest character he ever knew.” “Is that the clergyman you told me of?” interposed Mrs. Fane-Smith, anxious to turn the conversation. But her husband threw in a question, too.