'You are a moralist. I see.' observed the Marchesa, putting on a sweet smile as she rose and came forward, followed by Giovanni.
'I don't know,' replied the painter. 'What is a moralist?'
'A person who is in earnest about other people's morals,' suggested Angela gaily.
'Really!' cried the Marchesa, with a most emphatic English pronunciation of the word. 'One would think that you had been brought up in a Freemasons' lodge!'
In view of the fact that Angela's father was one of the very last survivors of the 'intransigent' clericals, this was quite the most cutting speech the Marchesa could think of. But Filmore Durand failed to see the point.
'What has Freemasonry to do with morality?' he inquired with bland surprise.
'Nothing at all,' answered the Marchesa smartly, 'for it is the religion of the devil.'
'Dear me!' The artist smiled. 'What strong prejudices you have in Rome!'
'Are you a Freemason?' the noble lady asked, with evident nervousness; and she glanced from his face to Angela, and then at the door.
'Well—no—I'm not,' the painter admitted with a slight drawl, and evidently amused. 'But then I'm not a moralist either, though I suppose I might be both and yet go on painting about the same.'