"Yes, you old silly. What is it now?"
Paul would throw himself into the window-seat and look gravely at her. "I say, do you know, in the long run, they all said that he was still blind!"
"What?"
"They all said he was still blind. The people, you know, and the Pharisees. The people said: 'But, look here, how could clay open a man's eyes? The thing's ridiculous. There must be more in it than that. Come now, He said a magic word, didn't He, that Jesus? He had some secret medicine, eh? You're hiding something, you know you are! What was it?'
"'It was clay out of the street,' said the Beggar-Man, 'just clay.'
"'Rubbish,' said the people, 'you're as blind as a bat to believe that twaddle.'"
Ursula would lean back thoughtfully, studying him. "And the Pharisees?" she asked softly.
"Ah, the Pharisees!" Paul jumped up and began to walk restlessly about. "You see, Ursula, when he was blind they were rather satisfied with him. He saw so plainly what good, wise, holy men they were. He saw plainly that they were meant to be masters in Israel, and it is right and proper for beggars to see that. But when they were up against his sight, and showed plainly that ultimately they knew no more than he did, and, indeed, not so much, about God or Jesus or miracles or clay or anything, he began to think that they, too, must have been born blind."
"I see," said the girl, "I see, Paul. And what then?"
"Oh, they turned the Beggar-Man out of the temple," said Paul.