alsehood, into the bargain.
Who are we, to judge whether people merit their bad name or not? No, no.
The humiliating circumstance is, that if I had possessed the substance
as well as the show, if I had really been a son of St. Ignatius,
I should have found a retort that would have effected the Jew's
conversion."

"And apropos of conversions," said Beatrice, "see how far we have
strayed from our muttons."

"Our muttons--?" The Cardinal looked up, enquiring.

"I want to know what you think--not of my hat--but of my man."

"Oh--ah, yes; your Englishman, your tenant." The Cardinal nodded.

"My Englishman--my tenant--my heretic," said she.

"Well," said he, pondering, while the parentheses became marked
again,--"I should think, from what you tell me, that you would find him
a useful neighbour. Let me see... You got fifty lire out of him, for a
word; and the children went off, blessing you as their benefactress. I
should think that you would find him a valuable neighbour--and that he,
on his side, might find you an expensive one."

Beatrice, with a gesture, implored him to be serious.

"Ah, please don't tease about this," she said. "I want to know what you
think of his conversion?"

"The conversion of a heretic is always 'a consummation devoutly to be
desired,' as well, you may settle it between Shakespeare and Byron,
to suit yourself. And there are none so devoutly desirous of such
consummations as you Catholics of England--especially you women. It is
said that a Catholic Englishwoman once tried to convert the Pope."

"Well, there have been popes whom it would n't have hurt," commented
Beatrice. "And as for Mr. Marchdale," she continued, "he has shown
'dispositions.' He admitted that he could see no reason why it should
not have been Our Blessed Lady who sent us to the children's aid.
Surely, from a Protestant, that is an extraordinary admission?"

"Yes," said the Cardinal. "And if he meant it, one may conclude that he
has a philosophic mind."

"If he meant it?" Beatrice cried. "Why should he not have meant it? Why
should he have said it if he did not mean it?"

"Oh, don't ask me," protested the Cardinal. "There is a thing the French
call politesse. I can conceive a young man professing to agree with a
lady for the sake of what the French might call her beaux yeux."

"I give you my word," said Beatrice, "that my beaux yeux had nothing to
do with the case. He said it in the most absolute good faith. He said he