"
"And I," Hannaway Wells retorted, "have been informed most
credibly that he is a Church of England clergyman."
"The last rumour I heard," Lord Shervinton put in, "was that he is
a grocer in a small way of business at Wigan."
"Dear me!" Doctor Lennard remarked. "The gossips have covered
enough ground! A man at a Bohemian club of which I am a member--
the Savage Club, in fact--assured me that he was an opium drugged
journalist, kept alive by the charity of a few friends; a human
wreck, who was once the editor of an important London paper."
"You have some slight connection with journalism, have you not,
Julian?" the Earl asked his son condescendingly. "Have you heard
no reports?"
"Many," Julian replied, "but none which I have been disposed to
credit. I should imagine, myself, that Paul Fiske is a man who
believes, having created a public, that his written words find an
added value from the fact that he obviously desires neither reward
nor recognition; just in the same way as the really earnest
democrats of twenty years ago scoffed at the idea of a seat in
Parliament, or of breaking bread in any way with the enemy."
"It was a fine spirit, that," the Bishop declared. "I am not sure
that we are not all of us a little over-inclined towards
compromises. The sapping away of conscience is so easy."
The dining-room door was thrown open, and the butler announced a
visitor.
"Colonel Henderson, your lordship."
They all turned around in their places.
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