doubt; and the incense declares the sole divinity of Life as well as its mystery."
"What of the figures?" put in Oliver.
"A stone image is impossible, of course. It must be clay for the present. Mr. Markenheim is to set to work immediately. If the figures are approved they can then be executed in marble."
Again Mabel spoke with a soft gravity.
"It seems to me," she said, "that this is the last thing that we needed. It is so hard to keep our principles clear—we must have a body for them—some kind of expression—"
She paused.
"Yes, Mabel?"
"I do not mean," she went on, "that some cannot live without it, but many cannot. The unimaginative need concrete images. There must be some channel for their aspirations to flow through— Ah! I cannot express myself!"
Oliver nodded slowly. He, too, seemed to be in a meditative mood.
"Yes," he said. "And this, I suppose, will mould men's thoughts too: it will keep out all danger of superstition."
Mr. Francis turned on him abruptly.
"What do you think of the Pope's new Religious Order, sir?"
Oliver's face took on it a tinge of grimness.
"I think it is the worst step he ever took—for himself, I mean. Either it is a real effort, in which case it will provoke immense indignation—or it is a sham, and will discredit him. Why do you ask?"
