“Quite, quite,” said Mr. Cecil. “Fought, of course, in general: the Church has a very strong hold.”
“And, by exception, sided with,” said Colin. “The direct worship of Satan really goes on still, doesn’t it, in—in holes and corners?”
Mr. Cecil evidently did not like the subject more than Nino. By now the puffing wind had increased into a roar, which rattled the shutters, and screamed round the corners of the house.
“One does hear of such things,” he said.
The hot wind strangely exhilarated Colin: he felt it tingling in him; he vibrated to its friendly violence. On Nino, who entered the room now to see if the signori were not disposed to quit the table, so that he might clear away, it seemed to have an opposite effect. Like all natives he detested scirocco, and looked jaded and washed-out.
“Black Mass, for instance,” said Colin to Mr. Cecil.
Nino, at Colin’s elbow, clicked his tongue against his teeth. Colin turned round.
“Oh, don’t hang about, Nino,” he said. “Go to bed: you look cross and tired. You can leave the things here till the morning. Good night.”
Nino had no answer for him, but sullenly withdrew.
“Your servant doesn’t seem to like the subject,” remarked Mr. Cecil. “He looked as stuffy as a thundercloud when you mentioned the Black Mass.”