“Come, Mr. MacIan, come,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “do you generally enter you friends' houses by walking through the glass?” (Laughter.)
“He is not my friend,” said Evan, with the stolidity of a dull child.
“Not your friend, eh?” said the magistrate, sparkling. “Is he your brother-in-law?” (Loud and prolonged laughter.)
“He is my enemy,” said Evan, simply; “he is the enemy of God.”
Mr. Vane shifted sharply in his seat, dropping the eye-glass out of his eye in a momentary and not unmanly embarrassment.
“You mustn't talk like that here,” he said, roughly, and in a kind of hurry, “that has nothing to do with us.”
Evan opened his great, blue eyes; “God,” he began.
“Be quiet,” said the magistrate, angrily, “it is most undesirable that things of that sort should be spoken about—a—in public, and in an ordinary Court of Justice. Religion is—a—too personal a matter to be mentioned in such a place.”
“Is it?” answered the Highlander, “then what did those policemen swear by just now?”
“That is no parallel,” answered Vane, rather irritably; “of course there is a form of oath—to be taken reverently—reverently, and there's an end of it. But to talk in a public place about one's most sacred and private sentiments—well, I call it bad taste. (Slight applause.) I call it irreverent. I call it irreverent, and I'm not specially orthodox either.”