“But suppose it was.”
“Well, if I must,” answered Ferris with a laugh. “With my unfortunate bringing up, I couldn’t say less than that such a man ought to get out of his priesthood at any hazard. He should cease to be a priest, if it cost him kindred, friends, good fame, country, everything. I don’t see how there can be any living in such a lie, though I know there is. In all reason, it ought to eat the soul out of a man, and leave him helpless to do or be any sort of good. But there seems to be something, I don’t know what it is, that is above all reason of ours, something that saves each of us for good in spite of the bad that’s in us. It’s very good practice, for a man who wants to be modest, to come and live in a Latin country. He learns to suspect his own topping virtues, and to be lenient to the novel combinations of right and wrong that he sees. But as for our insupposable priest—yes, I should say decidedly he ought to get out of it by all means.”
Florida fell back in her chair with an aspect of such relief as comes to one from confirmation on an important point. She passed her hand over the sewing in her lap, but did not speak.
Ferris went on, with a doubting look at her, for he had been shy of introducing Don Ippolito’s name since the day on the Brenta, and he did not know what effect a recurrence to him in this talk might have. “I’ve often wondered if our own clerical friend were not a little shaky in his faith. I don’t think nature meant him for a priest. He always strikes me as an extremely secular-minded person. I doubt if he’s ever put the question whether he is what he professes to be, squarely to himself—he’s such a mere dreamer.”
Florida changed her posture slightly, and looked down at her sewing. She asked, “But shouldn’t you abhor him if he were a skeptical priest?”
Ferris shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I don’t find it such an easy matter to abhor people. It would be interesting,” he continued musingly, “to have such a dreamer waked up, once, and suddenly confronted with what he recognized as perfect truthfulness, and couldn’t help contrasting himself with. But it would be a little cruel.”
“Would you rather have him left as he was?” asked Florida, lifting her eyes to his.
“As a moralist, no; as a humanitarian, yes, Miss Vervain. He’d be much happier as he was.”
“What time ought we to be ready for you tomorrow?” demanded the girl in a tone of decision.
“We ought to be in the Piazza by nine o’clock,” said Ferris, carelessly accepting the change of subject; and he told her of his plan for seeing the procession from a window of the Old Procuratie.