“But good to the cause in the long run,” said Hazeldine. “And as for Mr. Raeburn, he only rises the higher the more they try to crush him. He's like the bird that rises out of its own ashes the phenix, don't they call it?”
Erica smiled a little at the comparison, but sadly.
“Don't judge Christianity by this one bad specimen,” she said, as she shook hands with Hazeldine.
“How do Christians judge us, Miss Erica?” he replied, sternly.
“Then be more just than you think they are as generous as you would have them be.”
“It's but a working-day world, miss, and I'm but a working-day man. I can't set up to be generous to them who treat a man as though he was the dirt in the street. And if you will excuse me mentioning it, miss, I could wish that this shameful treatment would show to you what a delusion it is you've taken up of late.”
“Mr. Pogson can hurt me very much, but not so fatally as that,” said Erica, as much to herself as to Hazeldine.
When he had gone she picked up the measure once more, and turned to Tom.
“Help me just to finish this, Tom,” she said. “We must try to move in as quickly as may be.”
Tom silently took the other end of the tape, and they set to work again; but all the enjoyment in the new house seemed quenched and destroyed by that blast of calumny. They knew only too well that this was but the beginning of troubles.