"The leaflet will give you the details. It's decay of the optic nerve—a Russian from St. Petersburg. Both eyes completely blind, the nerves destroyed, and he saw light yesterday for the first time. He'll be down from the Russian hospice about eleven. We expect a cure to-day or to-morrow."
"Well," said Father Jervis, "we mustn't detain you. Then, if we look in about eleven?"
The monk nodded and smiled as he moved off.
"Certainly," he said. "At eleven then."
Monsignor turned to his friend.
"Well?"
Father Jervis shook his head.
"It's a sad business," he said. "That's Dom Adrian Bennett. He's very daring. He's had one warning from Rome; but he's so extraordinarily clever that it's very hard to silence him. He's not exactly heretical; but he will work along lines that have already been decided."
"Dear me! He seems very charming."
"Certainly. He is most charming, and utterly sincere. He's got the entree everywhere here. He is a first-rate scientist, by the way. But, Monsignor, I'd sooner not talk about him. Do you mind?"