The Greek came out like a child's lesson. He was not always sure; he corrected himself once or twice; and at the end he threw back his head with a little natural pride.
But the ladies avoided looking either at him or each other.
Eleanor thought of Father Benecke; of the weight of learning on that silver head. Yet Benecke was an outcast, and this youth was already on the ladder of promotion.
When he departed the Contessa threw up her hands.
'And that man is just appointed Advent Preacher at one of the greatest churches in Rome!'
Then she checked herself.
'At the same time, Madame,' she said, looking a little stiffly at Eleanor, 'we have learned priests—many of them.'
Eleanor hastened to assent. With what heat had Manisty schooled her during the winter to the recognition of Catholic learning, within its own self-chosen limits!
'It is this deplorable Seminary education!' sighed the Contessa. 'How is one half of the nation ever to understand the other? They speak a different language. Imagine all our scientific education on the one side, and this—this dangerous innocent on the other! And yet we all want religion—we all want some hope beyond this life.'
Her strong voice broke. She turned away, and Eleanor could only see the massive outline of head and bust, and the coils of grey hair.