Nobody recognised him. From the refined, gentle manner of his speech, he might have been one of the local vicars taking a stroll. Only Malster stirred, as if he felt there was something oddly familiar about the speaker, but seeing that he had no reason to suppose that Lord Henry was anywhere within twenty miles of the place, the identity of the stranger did not immediately occur to him. There was a pause, and then Malster said:
"Move up a bit, Leo! Yes, certainly, sir; we should be glad if you would."
"I'm tired," said the sweet soft female voice, which Lord Henry, as he sat down, realised that he had rightly ascribed to Mrs. Tribe, "I want to go indoors."
"One moment," said the weak voice, which had now become more than usually agitated.
"To begin with," Lord Henry said, "I should like to join issue most violently with the gentleman who has been arguing in favour of a personal god. Nothing,—in the last two centuries has been more fatal to Europe and humanity than this."
There was a general movement as if the whole party wished to draw closer to the speaker, and Stephen Fearwell, who was leaning against one of the outside uprights of the bower, swung round until his head was well inside the shelter.
"Good man!" he ejaculated enthusiastically, as he performed this movement. And Lord Henry recognised his voice as that of the boy who had previously endeavoured to support Gerald Tribe. It was evident that he could feel no deep concern about the issue. He merely wanted Gerald Tribe to get an innings for once against Malster.
"You see, as the supporter of a personal god has very truly pointed out," continued Lord Henry, "the morality of any race, or nation, or group of nations, who believe in a personal god, comes ultimately to derive its authority from the will of that personal god."
"Quite so!" said Denis in the same arrogant tone he had used all the time.
"Yes, but with what result?" Lord Henry demanded.