id Meats in complacent
realization of Michael's thoughts. And as he spoke he seemed consciously
to exercise their vile charm, so that his irises kindled slowly with
lambent blue flames.

"Come on, let's have this drink," urged Meats, and he led the way to a
scattered group of green tables. They sat down, and Michael ordered a
lemon-squash.

"Very good drink too," commented Meats. "I think I'll have the same,
Rosie," he said to the girl who served them.

"Do you know that girl?" Michael asked.

"Used to. About three years ago. She's gone oil though," said Meats
indifferently.

Michael, to hide his astonishment at the contemptuous suggestion of
damaged goods, enquired what Meats had been doing since he left the
Monastery.

"Want to know?" asked Meats.

Michael assured him that he did.

"You're rather interested in me, aren't you? Well, I can tell you a few
things and that's a fact. I don't suppose that there's anybody in London
who could tell you more. But you might be shocked."

"Oh, shut up!" scoffed Michael, blushing with indignation.

Then began the shameless narration of the late Brother Aloysius, whom
various attainments had enabled to gain an equal profit from religion
and vice. Sometimes as Michael listened to the adventures he was
reminded of Benvenuto Cellini or Casanova, but almost immediately the
comparison would be shattered by a sudden sanctimonious blasphemy which
he found nauseating. Moreover, he disliked the sly procurer that
continually leered through the man's personality.

"You seem to have done a lot of dirty work for other people," Michael
bluntly observed at last.

"My dear old chap," replied Meats, "of course I have. You see, in this
world there are lots of people who can always square their own
consciences, if the worst of what they want to do is done for them
behind the scenes as it were. You never yet heard a man confess that he
ruined a girl. Now, did you? Why, I've heard the most shocking
out-and-outers anyone could wish to meet brag that they've done
everything, and then turn up their eyes and thank God they've always
respected real purity. Well, I never respected anything or anybody. And
why should I? I never had a chance. Who was my mother? A servant. Who
was my father? A minister, a Nonconformist minister in Wales. And what
did the old tyke do? Why, he took the case to court and swore my mother
was out for blackmail. So she went to prison, and he came smirking home
behind