“Go down and open the door for them, Tom,” said Raeburn, who throughout Mr. Fane-Smith's visit had maintained a stern, stately silence.
Tom, nothing loth, obeyed. Erica was already half way downstairs with the guests, but he caught them up and managed to say goodbye to Rose, even to whisper a hope that they might meet again, to which Rose replied with a charming blush and smile which, Tom flattered himself, meant that she really cared for him. Had Rose gone quietly away the next morning, he would not have been goaded into any such folly. A cab was waiting; but, when Rose was once inside it, her father recovered his power of speech and turned upon Erica as they stood by the front door.
“I should have thought,” he said in an angry voice, “that after our anxiety to persuade you to leave your home, you might have known that I should never allow Rose to enter this hell, to mix with blaspheming atheists, to be contaminated by vile infidels!”
Erica's Highland hospitality and strong family loyalty were so outraged by the words that to keep silent was impossible.
“You forget to whom you are speaking,” she said quickly. “You forget that this is my father's house!”
“I would give a good deal to be able to forget,” said Mr. Fane-Smith. “I have tried to deal kindly with you, tried to take you from this accursed place, and you repay me by tempting Rose to stay with you!”
Erica had recovered herself by this time. Tom, watching her, could not but wonder at her self-restraint. She did not retaliate, did not even attempt to justify her conduct; at such a moment words would have been worse than useless. But Tom, while fully appreciating the common sense of the non-resistance, was greatly astonished. Was this his old playmate who had always had the most deliciously aggravating retort ready? Was this hot-tempered Erica? That Mr. Fane-Smith's words were hurting her very much he could see; he guessed, too, that the consciousness that he, a secularist, was looking on at this unfortunate display of Christian intolerance, added a sting to her grief.
“It is useless to profess Christianity,” stormed Mr. Fane-Smith, “if you openly encourage infidelity by consorting with these blasphemers. You are no Christian! A mere Socinian a Latitudinarian!”
Erica's lips quivered a little at this; but she remembered that Christ had been called harder names still by religious bigots of His day, and she kept silence.
“But understand this,” continued Mr. Fane-Smith, “that I approve less than ever of your intimacy with Rose, and until you come to see your folly in staying here, your worse than folly your deliberate choice of home and refusal to put religious duty first there had better be no more intercourse between us.”