to all other men, and that you believe Christianity has served its
purpose, and is now doing harm rather than good in the world, why, they'd
not want to have you in the University. Don't you know that?"

"Perhaps you're right," returned the Professor thoughtfully. "You see I
wasn't brought up in any creed, and I've lived in so completely
different an atmosphere for years past, that it's hard to understand
such intolerant bigotry. I remember enough, though, to see that you are
right. But, after all, what does it matter? I can't play hypocrite
because they're blind fanatics."

"No, but you needn't have gone _quite_ so far--been _quite_ so
frank; and even now you might easily--" She stopped, catching a look of
surprise in her lover's face, and sought confusedly to blot out the
effect of her last words. "I mean--but of course you know best. I want
you to keep your place; you love the work, and no one could do it so
well as you. No one, and--"

"It doesn't matter, May. I'm sure you were thinking of what would be
best for both of us, but I've nothing to alter or extenuate. They must
do as they think fit, these Christians, if they have the power. After
all, it can make no difference to us; I can always get work enough to
keep us, even if it isn't such congenial work. But do you think Gulmore's
at the bottom of it? Has he so much influence?"

"Yes, I think so," and the girl nodded her head, but she did not give
the reasons for her opinion. She knew that Ida Gulmore had been in love
with him, so she shrank instinctively from mentioning her name, partly
because it might make him pity her, and partly because the love of
another woman for him seemed to diminish her pride of exclusive