"Is Claude Heath."
"Claude Heath," slowly repeated Charmian. "The name means nothing to me. Do you know it, Mr. Lane?"
Paul Lane shook his smooth black head.
"Heath has not published anything," said Max Elliot, quite unmoved by the scepticism with which the atmosphere of Mrs. Mansfield's drawing-room was obviously charged.
"Not even a Te Deum?" asked Charmian.
"No, though I confess he has composed one."
"If he has composed a Te Deum I give him up. He is vieux jeu. He should go and live in the Crystal Palace."
"And it's superb!" added Max Elliot. "Till I heard it I never realized what the noble words of the Te Deum meant."
Suddenly he got up and moved toward the window murmuring, "All the Earth doth worship Thee, the Father Everlasting."
There was a silence in the room. Charmian's eyes suddenly filled with tears, she scarcely knew why. She felt as if a world was opening out before her, as if there were wide horizons to call to the gaze of those fitted to look upon them, and as if, perhaps, she were one of these elect.