"You secured honours with the husks," said Mr. Harland.

Santoris gave a gesture of airy contempt.

"Honours! Such honours! Any fellow unaddicted to drinking, with a
fair amount of determined plod could win them. The alleged
'difficulties' in the way are perfectly childish. They scarcely
deserve to be called the pothooks and hangers of an education. I
always got my work done in two or three hours--the rest of my time
at college was pure leisure,--which I employed in other and wiser
forms of study than those of the general curriculum--as you know."

"You mean occult mysteries and things of that sort?"

"'Occult' is a word of such new coinage that it is not found in many
dictionaries,"--said Santoris, with a mirthful look--"You will not
find it, for instance, in the earlier editions of Stormonth's
reliable compendium. I do not care for it myself; I prefer to say
'Spiritual science.'"

"You believe in that?" asked Catherine, abruptly.

"Assuredly! How can I do otherwise, seeing that it is the Key to the
Soul of Nature?" "That's too deep for me!" said Dr. Brayle, pouring
himself out a glass of whisky and mixing it with soda-water--"If
it's a riddle I give it up!"

Santoris was silent. There was a moment's pause. Then Catherine
leaned forward across the table, looking at him with tired,