She rose without speaking. They left the chapel, and ascended the stairs.
"You are not under the impression," he said, with a smile, as they walked side by side, "that the Old Testament is responsible for those horrors we have just been speaking of?"
"They are in that spirit. My reading of the New omits everything of the kind."
"So does mine. But we have no justification."
"We can select what is useful to us, and reject what does harm."
"Yes; but then—"
He did not finish the sentence, and they went into the pictured Loggia. Here, choosing out his favourites, Mallard endeavoured to explain all his joy in them. He showed her how it was Hebrew history made into a series of exquisite and touching legends; he dwelt on the sweet, idyllic treatment, the lovely landscape, the tender idealism throughout, the perfect adaptedness of gem-like colouring.
Miriam endeavoured to see with his eyes, but did not pretend to be wholly successful. The very names were discordant to her ear.
"I will buy some photographs of them to take away," she said.
"Don't do that; they are useless. Colour and design are here inseparable."