“That it was inspired by Gulmore, and that he was a dangerous man; but I don't see much in it. If my father owed money in Kentucky it shall be repaid, and there the matter ends.”
“'Tisn't that I'm troubling about; it's that lecture of yours. Oh, it was wonderful! but I sat trembling all the time. You don't know the people. If they had understood it better, they'd have made a big fuss about it. I'm frightened now.”
“But what fuss can they make? I've surely a right to my own opinions, and I didn't criticise any creed offensively.”
“That's it—that's what saved you. Oh, I wish you'd see it as I do! You spoke so enthusiastically about Jesus, that you confused them. A lot of them thought, and think still, that you're a Christian. But if it's brought up again and made clear to them—Won't you understand? If it's made quite clear that Jesus to you was only a man, and not superior even 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 possession. She therefore kept silence while seeking for a way to warn her lover without revealing the truth, which might set him thinking of Ida Gulmore and her fascinating because unrequited passion. At length she said:
“Mr. Gulmore has injured father. He knows him: you'd better take his opinion.”
“Your father advises me to have nothing more to do with the election.” He didn't say it to try her; he trusted her completely. The girl's answer was emphatic: