but nevertheless he had remained what he was—a
man of ideas rather than of practice, and without
Monsignor the reformation would have come to naught.
Evelyn was strangely interested to know what Ulick
thought of Monsignor, and she waited eager for him
to speak. She would have liked to hear him enthusiastic,
but he said that Monsignor was no more than an Oxford
don with a taste for dogma and for a cardinal’s
hat. He was not a man of ideas, but a man that
would do well in an election or a strike. He was
what folk call “a leader of men,” and Ulick
held that power over the passing moment was a sign
of inferiority. Shakespeare and Shelley and Blake
had never participated in any movement; they were the
movement itself, they were the centres of things.
Christ, too, had failed to lead men, he was far too
much above them; but St. Paul, the man of inferior
ideas, had succeeded where Christ had failed.
Mostyn, he maintained, was much more interested in
dogma than in religion; he abhorred mysticism, and
believed in organisation. He considered his Church
from the point of view of a trades union. An
unspiritual man, one much more interested in theology
than in God—an able shepherd with an instinct
for lost sheep whose fixed and commonplace ideas gave
him command over weak and exalted natures, natures
which were frequently much more spiritual than his
own. Evelyn listened, amused, though she could
not think of Monsignor quite as Ulick did. Monsignor
had said that if we ask ourselves to what our unhappiness
is attributable, we find that it is attributable to
having followed the way of the world instead of the
way of Christ.
It seemed to her impossible that a man of inferior
intelligence such as Ulick described could think so
clearly. She reminded Ulick of these very sentences
which had so greatly moved her, and it flattered her
to hear him admit it, that the idea which had so greatly
struck her was penetrating and far-reaching, but he
denied that it was possible that it could be Monsignor’s
own. It was something he had got out of a book,
and seeing the effect that could be made of it, he
had introduced it into his sermon. In support
of this opinion, he said that all the rest of the
sermon was sententious commonplace about the soul,
and obedience to the Church.
“But you will be able to judge for yourself.
He is coming to the concert to-night.”
“Then I must have a dress to wear, I suppose
he would like me to wear sackcloth. But I am
going to wear a pretty pink silk, which I hope you
will like. Call that hansom, please.”
It was amusing to watch her write the note, hear her
explain to the cabman: if he brought back the
right dress he was to get a sovereign. It was
amusing to stroll on through the naked Sunday streets,
talking of the music they had just heard and of Monsignor,
to find suddenly that they had lost their way and
could see no one to direct them. These little
incidents served to enhance their happiness. They