"It seems to me," pursued Mr. Candish, only half conscious that Mrs. Fenton had come to his aid, "that Bishop Blougram represents the most dangerous spirit of the age. His paltering with truth is a form of casuistry of which we see altogether too much nowadays."
"Do you think," asked a timid feminine voice, "that Blougram was quite serious? That he really meant all he said, I mean?"
The president looked at the speaker with despair in his glance; but she was adorably pretty and of excellent social position, so that snubbing was not to be thought of. Moreover, he was thoroughly well trained in keeping his temper under the severest provocation, so he expressed his feelings merely by a deprecatory smile.
"We have the poet's authority," he responded, in a softly patient voice, "for saying that he believed only half."
There was a little rustle of leaves, as if people were looking over their books, in order to find the passage to which he alluded. Then a young girl in the front row of chairs, a pretty creature, just on the edge of womanhood, looked up earnestly, her finger at a line on the page before her.
"I can't make out what this means," she announced, knitting her girlish brow,—
"'Here, we've got callous to the Virgin's winks
That used to puzzle people wholesomely.'"
"Of course he can't mean that the Madonna winks; that would be too irreverent."
There were little murmurs of satisfaction that the question had been asked, confusing explanations which evidently puzzled some who had not thought of being confused before; and then another girl, ignoring the fact that the first difficulty had not been disposed of, propounded another.
"Isn't the phrase rather bold," she asked, "where he speaks of 'blessed evil?'"