“The Church is always compromising,” explained the priest, “only it does it so slowly that no one man lives long enough to quite catch it at the trick.  No; the great secret of the Catholic Church is that it doesn’t debate with sceptics.  No matter what points you make against it, it is never betrayed into answering back.  It simply says these things are sacred mysteries, which you are quite free to accept and be saved, or reject and be damned.  There is something intelligible and fine about an attitude like that.  When people have grown tired of their absurd and fruitless wrangling over texts and creeds which, humanly speaking, are all barbaric nonsense, they will come back to repose pleasantly under the Catholic roof, in that restful house where things are taken for granted.  There the manners are charming, the service excellent, the decoration and upholstery most acceptable to the eye, and the music”—­he made a little mock bow here to Celia—­“the music at least is divine.  There you have nothing to do but be agreeable, and avoid scandal, and observe the convenances.  You are no more expected to express doubts about the Immaculate Conception than you are to ask the lady whom you take down to dinner how old she is.  Now that is, as I have said, an intelligent and rational church for people to have.  As the Irish civilize themselves—­you observe them diligently engaged in the process down below there—­and the social roughness of their church becomes softened and ameliorated, Americans will inevitably be attracted toward it.  In the end, it will embrace them all, and be modified by them, and in turn influence their development, till you will have a new nation and a new national church, each representative of the other.”

“And all this is to be done by lager beer!” Theron ventured to comment, jokingly.  He was conscious of a novel perspiration around the bridge of his nose, which was obviously another effect of the drink.

The priest passed the pleasantry by.  “No,” he said seriously; “what you must see is that there must always be a church.  If one did not exist, it would be necessary to invent it.  It is needed, first and foremost, as a police force.  It is needed, secondly, so to speak, as a fire insurance.  It provides the most even temperature and pure atmosphere for the growth of young children.  It furnishes the best obtainable social machinery for marrying off one’s daughters, getting to know the right people, patching up quarrels, and so on.  The priesthood earn their salaries as the agents for these valuable social arrangements.  Their theology is thrown in as a sort of intellectual diversion, like the ritual of a benevolent organization.  There are some who get excited about this part of it, just as one hears of Free-Masons who believe that the sun rises and sets to exemplify their ceremonies.  Others take their duties more quietly, and, understanding just what it all amounts to, make the best of it, like you and me.”