If his glance fell, now and then, upon the face of Browett, he saw it only through the haze of his own fervour--a patch of granite-gray holding two pricking points of light.
Not once was Browett permitted to feel himself more than one of a crowd; not once was he permitted to rise above his mere atomship, nor feel that he received more attention than the humblest worshipper in arrears for pew-rent.

Yet, though the young rector regarded Browett as but one of many, he knew infallibly the instant that invisible wire was strung between them, and felt, thereafter, every tug of opposition or signal of agreement that flashed from Browett's mind, knowing in the end, without a look, that he had won Browett's approval and even excited his interest.
For the sermon had been strangely, wonderfully suited to Browett's peculiar tastes.

Hardly could a sermon have been better planned to win him.

The choice of the text itself: "And thou shalt take no gift: for the gift blindeth the wise and perverteth the words of the righteous," was perfect art.
The plea was for intellectual honesty, for academic freedom, for fearless independence, which were said to be the crowning glories in the diadem of man's attributes.

Fearlessly, then, did the speaker depreciate both the dogmatism of religion and the dogmatism of science.