"Apparently Mr. da Rocha has his tongue in both his cheeks at once," put in Crowberry fils. "I gather, sir, that these regrettable monks were, at one and the same time, a gang of bony scarecrows starving themselves to death and also a pack of fat and greasy gormandizers and guzzlers. Such Jesuitical duplicity makes me shudder."
"Come to think of it," blurted out his father, "I shouldn't be surprised if da Rocha here is a Jesuit monk in disguise. Where's his whiskers? Where's his wife? I don't call it natural."
"A Jesuit monk?" moaned Mrs. Baxter, recoiling in horror. "How dreadful!" And she grabbed at Isabel's arm as if to snatch a helpless victim out of danger.
"There's no such a thing as a Jesuit monk, madam," smiled Antonio. "The Jesuits are a Society, not a monastic order."
"There are Jesuit nuns, anyhow," muttered Mrs. Baxter, scowling darkly. "England is full of them."
"Pardon me," exclaimed Antonio, keeping all his good temper. "That can hardly be. There are women-Benedictines, women-Dominicans, women-Carmelites, and so on; but there's no such thing as a woman-Jesuit."
"Pardon me, too," retorted Mrs. Baxter warmly. "I am English and I ought to know. I repeat that England is full of female Jesuits. So how can you stand there, Signor, and say that Jesuits are never women?"
"They are women, of course," interrupted Mr. Crowberry; "old women. Silly old women. Why, they walk about in petticoats, and nothing pleases 'em so much as putting on finery and dressing up images, like little girls dressing up dolls. Tut! But come, da Rocha, out with the truth. I'll lay you a dozen of old Madeira against a half a dozen of your new champagne that you can't swear your Bible oath that you aren't a Jesuit in disguise."
"I won't have the Madeira; but lend me your pocket Bible," demanded Antonio.
"Lay your hand on your heart, instead," Mr. Crowberry answered.