Meanwhile, trouble had arisen between the Bishop and Mr. Morewood.  Morewood was an artist of great ability, originality, and skill; and if he had not attained the honors of the Academy, it was perhaps more of his own fault than that of the exalted body in question, as he always treated it with an ostentatious contumely.  After all, the Academy must be allowed its feelings.  Moreover, his opinions on many subjects were known to be extreme, and he was not chary of displaying them.  He was sitting on Mrs. Lane’s left, opposite the Bishop, and the latter had started with his hostess a discussion of the relation between religion and art.  All went harmoniously for a time; they agreed that religion had ceased to inspire art, and that it was a very regrettable thing; and there, one would have thought the subject—­not being a new one—­might well have been left.  Suddenly, however, Mr. Morewood broke in: 

“Religion has ceased to inspire art because it has lost its own inspiration, and having so ceased, it has lost its only use.”

The Bishop was annoyed.  A well-bred man himself, he disliked what seemed to him ill-bred attacks on opinions which his position proclaimed him to hold.

“You cannot expect me to assent to either of your propositions, Mr. Morewood,” he said.  “If I believed them, you know, I should not be in the place I am.”

“They’re true, for all that,” retorted Morewood.  “And what is it to be traced to?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said poor Mrs. Lane.

“Why, to Established Churches, of course.  As long as fancies and imaginary beings are left free to each man to construct or destroy as he will,—­or again, I may say, as long as they are fluid,—­they subserve the pleasurableness of life.  But when you take in hand and make a Church out of them, and all that, what can you expect?”

“I think you must be confusing the Church with the Royal Academy,” observed the Bishop, with some acidity.

“There would be plenty of excuse for me, if I did,” replied Morewood.  “There’s no truth and no zeal in either of them.”

“If you please, we will not discuss the truth.  But as to the zeal, what do you say to the example of it among us now?” And the Bishop, lowering his voice, indicated Stafford.

Morewood directed a glance at him.

“He’s mad!” he said briefly.

“I wish there were a few more with the same mania about.”

“You don’t believe all he does?”

“Perhaps I can’t see all he does,” said the Bishop, with a touch of sadness.

“How do you mean?”

“I have been longer in the cave, and perhaps I have peered too much through cave-spectacles.”

Morewood looked at him for a moment.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been rude, Bishop,” he said more quietly, “but a man must say what he thinks.”

“Not at all times,” said the Bishop; and he turned pointedly to Mrs. Lane and began to discuss indifferent matters.