Nothing was said for a long while, and then the Bishop's meaning began to break in his mind; his face flushed, and he grew confused. "I hope your grace doesn't think for a moment that—"
"I only want to know if there is anyone—if your eyes ever went in a certain direction, if your thoughts ever said, 'Well, if the decree is revoked—'"
"No, your Grace, no. Celibacy has been no burden to me—far from it. Sometimes I feared that it was celibacy that attracted me to the priesthood. Celibacy was a gratification rather than a sacrifice."
"I am glad," said the Bishop, and he spoke slowly and emphatically, "that this letter was prompted by such impersonal motives."
"Surely, your Grace, His Holiness did not suspect—"
The Bishop murmured an euphonious Italian name, and Father MacTurnan understood that he was speaking of one of the Pope's secretaries.
"More than once," said Father MacTurnan, "I feared that if the decree were revoked, I should not have had sufficient courage to comply with it."
And then he told the Bishop how he had met Norah Flynn on the road. An amused expression stole into the Bishop's face, and his voice changed.
"I presume you do not contemplate making marriage obligatory; you do not contemplate the suspension of the faculties of those who do not take wives?"
"It seems to me that exception should be made in favour of those in orders, and, of course, in favour of those who have reached a certain age like your Grace."