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They came in and had some coffee before going into the study. Mrs. Craigie talked to Mr. Harmston. Erica, looking her loveliest waited on them. Tom watched them all philosophically from the hearth rug. "I am sorry to hear you have deserted your colors," said the professor, looking more grave than she had ever seen him look before.
Then, his voice softening a little as he looked at her, "I expect it all comes of that illness of yours. I believe religion is just an outgrowth of bad health mens sana in corpore sano, you know. Never mind, you must still come to my workshop, and I shall see if science won't reconvert you." He moved away with his good-humored, shaggy-looking face, leaving Erica to old Mr. Harmston.
"Quite right, my dear," said the old man, "but that does not make our loss the less heavy. We had hoped great things of you, Erica. It is grievous to me that you should have fallen back to the miserable superstitions against which your father has fought so bravely." "Come, Mr. Harmston," said the professor; "we are late, I fancy." And before Erica could make any reply Mrs.
His companion did not allude directly to her change of views, but treated her with a sort of pitying condescension, as if she had been a mild lunatic. There was some sort of committee being held in the study that evening. The next person to arrive was Professor Gosse and almost immediately after came Mr. Harmston, a charming old man, whom Erica had known from her childhood.
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