Miss Devereux didn't see it, and in perturbed tones, she said so. "The Fathers, she knew, were full of error. Full of error!—" and she performed vehemently the "invisible soap and imperceptible water" operation with her two hands.
"Is anything human not more or less full of error?" Jem asked in a low voice.
Miss Devereux had no wish to listen to either Jem or Mr. Trevelyan. Instruction was the last thing she desired. She felt that she had the best of it; and so doubtless in a sense she had; for she was attacking what Mr. Trevelyan was not defending; and since she knew a great deal more about his views than he did himself, it was not of the slightest use for him to disclaim belief in the infallibility of the Fathers. Miss Devereux knew better. Let Mr. Trevelyan say what he would, she could still go on with her monotonous protest—"Full of error! Full of error!"
"May I ask which of the Fathers you studied last?" asked Mr. Trevelyan.
Sybella was horrified. Read the Fathers! How could he suppose that she would do anything so fraught with peril? Then she looked appealingly at Mr. Byng; but Mr. Byng was tongue-tied by the lurking disdain in Jean's greenish eyes—a disdain more unequivocally expressed in the corners of Mr. Trevelyan's mouth, as he sank into silence. Evelyn once more, with her skilful grace, broke up the discussion, and resolutely started other topics.
"Too bad," Miss Moggridge said to Jem, not referring to Evelyn, but to the change of subject. "I should have liked to see those two fight it out."
Jem moved his head negatively, smiling. "A waste of strength," he said. "Life is too short for skirmishes which cannot lead to victory."
Rub number three did not come till they were all in the drawing-room, the gentlemen having just joined the ladies. This time Cyril was the offender, not Mr. Trevelyan; and Lady Lucas was the offended, not Sybella.
Cyril had not altogether liked Jean's interest in her talk with the Curate at dinner. He had enjoyed the discussions and Miss Moggridge; but he had not enjoyed the sight of those two intent faces. It was all very well for Mr. Byng to admire Jean; but for Jean to be so wrapped up in a subdued dialogue, as not to hear when Cyril spoke to her, was by no means right. Jean belonged to him; whether or no he meant to have her for a permanent possession; and nobody else had a right to Jean.
He had not noticed before what a good-looking young fellow Mr. Byng really was; and the confidential tone in which the Curate expounded his ideas to his listener during dessert made Cyril wrathful. He was no given to wrathfulness about small things; but this could hardly be called a small thing.