usual.

The conversation was such which should be expected of Bishop's
counselors, president of Elders' quorums, and class leaders in
the Mutual, which these men were. On this occasion some of the
always-present moral problems were discussed. Dorian was so quiet that
eventually some one called on him for an opinion.

"I don't think I can add anything to the discussion," replied Dorian.
"Only this, however: One day in Sunday school Uncle Zed painted the
terrors of sin to us boys in such colours that I shall never forget it.
The result in my case is that I have a dreadful fear of moral wrong
doing. I am literally scared, I--"

Dorian turned his eyes to the darkened doorway. Mr. Jack Lamont stood
there with a cynical expression on his face. His hat was tilted back on
his head, and a half-smoked cigarette sagged from his lips. The genial
warmth of the room seemed chilled by the newcomer's presence.

"G'day, gentlemen," said Mr. Lamont. "Mr. Trent, here, is afraid, I
understand."

The men arose. Outside the clouds were breaking. Dorian stepped forward,
quite close to Jack Lamont.

"Yes, I am afraid," said Dorian, his face white with passion, "but not
of what you think, not of what you would be afraid, you dirty, low,
scoundrel!"

Lamont raised a riding whip he had in his hand, but the men interfered,