"
"What a pity," she sighed, "that you are so handicapped by birth!
Sociology cannot mean anything very serious for you. Your
perspective is naturally distorted."
"What about yourself?" he asked pertinently.
"The vanity of us women!" she murmured. "I have grown to look
upon myself as being an exception. I forget that there might be
others. You might even be one of our prophets--a Paul Fiske in
disguise."
His eyes narrowed a little as he looked at her closely. From
across the table, the Bishop broke off an interesting discussion
on the subject of his addresses to the working classes, and the
Earl set down his wineglass with an impatient gesture.
"Does no one really know," Mr. Stenson asked, "who Paul Fiske is?"
"No one, sir," Mr. Hannaway Wells replied. "I thought it wise, a
short time ago, to set on foot the most searching enquiries, but
they were absolutely fruitless."
The Bishop coughed.
"I must plead guilty," he confessed, "to having visited the
offices of The Monthly Review with the same object. I left a note
for him there, in charge of the editor, inviting him to a
conference at my house. I received no reply. His anonymity seems
to be impregnable."
"Whoever he may be," the Earl declared, "he ought to be muzzled.
He is a traitor to his country."
"I cannot agree with you, Lord Maltenby," the Bishop said firmly.
"The very danger of the man's doctrines lies in their clarity of
thought, their extraordinary proximity to the fundamental truths
of life.
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