"So he does me," Philip answered, since the General gave him the
cue. "And I notice it's the same with people in the train. They
always listen to him, though sometimes he preaches the most
extravagant doctrines--oh, much worse than anything he's said here
this afternoon. He's really quite eccentric."

"What sort of doctrines?" the Dean inquired, with languid zeal.
"Not, I hope, irreligious?"

"Oh, dear, no," Philip answered; "not that so much. He troubles
himself very little, I think, about religion. Social doctrines,
don't you know; such very queer views--about women, and so forth."

"Indeed?" the Dean said quickly, drawing himself up very stiff: for
you touch the ark of God for the modern cleric when you touch the
question of the relations of the sexes. "And what does he say?
It's highly undesirable men should go about the country inciting to
rebellion on such fundamental points of moral order in public
railway carriages." For it is a peculiarity of minds constituted
like the Dean's (say, ninety-nine per cent. of the population) to
hold that the more important a subject is to our general happiness,
the less ought we all to think about it and discuss it.

"Why, he has very queer ideas," Philip went on, slightly hesitating;
for he shared the common vulgar inability to phrase exposition of a
certain class of subjects in any but the crudest and ugliest
phraseology. "He seems to think, don't you know, the recognised
forms of vice--well, what all young men do--you know what I
mean--Of course it's not right, but still they do them--" The
Dean nodded a cautious acquiescence. "He thinks they're horribly