ness to take up the heads of fools that pave hell. Excuse my warmth of expression, Cardinal Power, my point of view is remote from that of the non-catholics you speak of, remote, I fear, even from your own. Exalt Our Lady too much, say you? You cannot. My charge against you Catholics is, that you do not exalt Her nearly enough. I arraign you for being wilfully blind and deaf in the very visible presence of Deity itself to which you have been admitted, and if you were dumb also when in that presence, it would be better: there would be less sacrilege.’
Cardinal Power gazed at his new acquaintance for some seconds in unfeigned amazement.
‘Not worship Her enough!’ he at last repeated.
‘Not nearly enough,’ responded the other. ‘This people flatter me with their lips, but their heart is far from me.’ You come to Her with lachrymose hypocrisy, babbling about intercession. Intercession! Are you aware, Cardinal Power—you are not aware, or you would not do it—that to ask the Supreme Deity to intercede, is the very essence of blasphemy? Intercede with whom? It cannot be with those below Herself, for that would be nonsense. But who is above Her—who can be above the Supreme? That is why I said you Catholics were better dumb; because you could not blaspheme in that fashion.’
‘Your Eminence will excuse my uncle’s pithy language, I am sure,’ said Lesbia gently; ‘enthusiasts such as he are not Chrysostoms.’
‘That’s all right, Miss Newman,’ answered the cardinal, who cared nothing for useless ceremony. ‘But, Mr Bristley, is Our Lady, then, above the Trinity?’
‘Why, of course,’ he replied. ‘The Trinity is but a metaphysical analysis of humanity, Our Lady is its synthesis. The synthesis is the living person, the analysis is but its anatomy. You yourself theoretically admit as much in styl-
