“I can not help that, but in my own house I choose my own society.”

“Your reasons?” insisted Miss Gascoigne, now seriously angry.  “It is unfair to act so oddly—­I must say so ridiculously, without giving a reason.”

Dr. Grey paused a moment, and seemed to ponder before he answered.

“My reason, so far as I can state it, is, that this young man holds, and puts into open practice, opinions which I wholly condemn, and consider unworthy of a Christian, an honest man, or even a decent member of society.”

“And, pray, what are they?”

“It is difficult to explain them to a woman.  Do not think me hard,” he added, and his eyes wandered round to his wife, though he still addressed only his sister.  “A man may fail and rise again—­and we know Who pitied and helped to raise all fallen sinners.  But sin itself never ceases to be sin; and, while impenitent, can neither be forgiven nor blotted out.  If a man or a woman—­there is no difference—­came to me and said, ‘I have erred, but I mean to err no more,’ I hope I would never shut my door against either; I would help, and comfort, and save both, in every possible way.  But a man who continues in sin, hugs it, loves it, calls it by all manner of fine names, and makes excuses for it after the fashion of the world—­the world may act as it chooses toward him, but there is only one way in which I can act.”

“And what is that?” asked Miss Gascoigne, in astonishing meekness.

“I shut my door against him.  Not injuring him, nor pharisaically condemning him, but merely showing to him, and to all others, that I consider sin to be sin and call it so.  Likewise, that I will have no fellowship with it, whether it is perpetrated by the beggar in the streets or the prince on the throne.  That no consideration, either of worldly advantage, or dread of what society may say, or do, or think, shall ever induce me to let cross my threshold, or bring into personal association with my family, any man who, to my knowledge, leads an unvirtuous life.”

“Which most indecorous fact, as regards Sir Edwin, not only yourself, but your wife apparently, was quite aware of.  Very extraordinary!”

This Parthian thrust was sharp indeed, but Dr. Grey bore it.

“If she was aware of it—­which is not at all extraordinary—­my wife did perfectly right in acting as she has done.  It only shows, what I knew well before, that she and her husband think alike on this, as on most other subjects.”

And he held out his hand to Christian.  She could willingly have fallen at his feet.  Oh, how small seemed all dreams of fancy, or folly of passionate youth, compared to the intense emotion—­what was it, reverence or love?—­that was creeping slowly and surely into every fiber of her being, for the man, her own wedded husband, who satisfied at once her conscience, her judgment, and her heart.

While these two exchanged a hand-grasp and a look—­no more; but that was enough—­Miss Cascoigne sat, routed, but unconquered still.  She might have made one more effort at warfare but that Barker opportunely entered with the evening post-bag.