SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO ACCUSE HIM OF READING THE BIBLE DAILY.

Phyllis shook hands with her visitor. He sought to retain her hand, as
he had been in the habit of doing, as he stood beside her with something
of a proprietary air. He relinquished her hand with a little look of
surprise--a sort of pained surprise. She was inexorable. She would not
even allow him to maintain his proprietary air.

"Do sit down, Mr. Holland," she said.

"What! 'Mr. Holland' already? Oh, Phyllis!"

He had a good voice, full of expression--something beyond mere musical
expression. People (they were mostly women) said that his voice had soul
in it, whatever they meant by that.

She made no reply. What reply could she make? She only waited for him to
sit down.

"Your letter came as a great shock to me, Phyllis," said he, when he had
seated himself, not too close to her. He did not wish her to fancy that
he was desirous of having a subtle influence of propinquity as an ally.
"A great shock to me."

"A shock?" said she. "A shock, after you had written that book?"

"I fancied you would understand it, Phyllis--you, at least. Of course
I expected to be misrepresented by the world--the critics--the
clerics--what you will--but you----You had not read it when you wrote
that letter to me--that terrible letter. You could not have read it."