“That is merely a superficial manifestation of a deeper spiritual unrest, I hope of spiritual hunger,” he assured me. “It will be quite evanescent.”
“It didn’t strike me that there was anything evanescent about Mary Gregson’s temper at not being asked to be secretary before Lizzie Reynolds.”
“Of course,” said Snape with dignity, “if we are to be turned aside by the vulgar jealousies of uneducated young women, we cannot make much progress on the road to spirituality, can we?”
I felt it was impossible to argue with the man, so I propounded my theory of multiplying guilds and brigades and things. But he did not approve of this either.
“No,” he said. “That would be to jump from one extreme to another, which is always a mistake. Just as in the natural world, so in the spiritual, there must be a gradual organic evolution. We must be content with small beginnings.”
“The thin end of the wedge, eh?”
“Oh no, pardon me!”
I chuckled. I had deliberately tried that wretched old phrase on him. And the hackneyed metaphor is so invariably used of something undesirable that I was certain he would shy away from the sound of it.
“Well, I suppose you told the bishop I had given you a free hand in the parish?” I enquired.
“Yes, I had already written to him to that effect very shortly after you left! I regret to say that his Lordship seemed to advocate what I can only describe as a policy of laissez-faire. That is why I venture to say that his Lordship did not strike me as very helpful.”