"I suppose they managed to get some account of the business; one can't hush up a dynamite outrage even in the interior of New Guinea." "But what a gross misrepresentation of facts it was to say that you had massacred the natives," cried Phyllis indignantly.
He laughed with a shrug.
"Oh, we must all live," he said.
"Unless those who treat tins of dynamite as though they were tins of brawn," said Ella.

Then turning to Phyllis she smiled.
Phyllis had no difficulty interpreting the smile.
"Yes," she said, "your opinion was quite correct: Mr.Courtland doesn't care what people say, and it doesn't matter in the least what they do say, or what falsehoods are spread abroad." "Not in the smallest degree," said Ella.

"Herbert Courtland is still Herbert Courtland." "But so far as I can gather," said Mr.Courtland, "all that the missionaries said of me was substantially correct." "Read the paper and you will see how detestably false all the charges are," cried Phyllis, rising,--the servants had now left the room,--and picking up the _Spiritual Aneroid_ from where Ella had laid it on a chair.
Herbert Courtland had not yet opened it.

He took it from her, saying: "Thank you, Miss Ayrton.

But I really don't see that it concerns me very much whether or not the charges brought against me are true or false.
The matter is certainly one for the--the--ah--_Spiritual Aneroid_ and its special _clientele_." "But a question is to be asked about it in the House of Commons.