Hopeless! He could not bring himself to do it. It was strange! It was
disgusting! ... No, he would be compelled to write the letter.
Besides, the letter would be more effective. His father could not
interrupt a letter by some loud illogical remark. Thus he salved his
self-conceit. He also sought relief in reflecting savagely upon the
speeches that had been made against him in the debate. He went through
them all in his mind. There was the slimy idiot from Baines's (it was
in such terms that his thoughts ran) who gloried in never having read a
word of Colenso, and called the assembled company to witness that
nothing should ever induce him to read such a godless author, going
about in the mask of a so-called Bishop. But had any of them read
Colenso, except possibly Llewellyn Roberts, who in his Welsh way would
pretend ignorance and then come out with a quotation and refer you to
the exact page? Edwin himself had read very little of Colenso--and that
little only because a customer had ordered the second part of the
"Pentateuch" and he had stolen it for a night. Colenso was not in the
Free Library... What a world! What a debate! Still, he could not help
dwelling with pleasure on Mr Roberts's insistence on the brilliant
quality of his brains. Astute as Mr Roberts was, the man was clearly
in awe of Edwin's brains! Why? To be honest, Edwin had never been
deeply struck by his own brain power. And yet there must be something
in it!
"Of course," he reflected sardonically, "father doesn't show the
faintest interest in the debate. Yet he knew all about it, and that I
had to open it." But he was glad that his father showed no interest in
the debate. Clara had mentioned it in the presence of Maggie, with her
usual ironic intent, and Edwin had quickly shut her up.
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