“Do your clergy indeed speak with a clear voice?”

“They do; and we must, of course, listen.  Truth is apt to be painful.  And how can we reconcile our aristocratic instincts with our faith?  I ask for information and you will forgive the personality.  I find myself in almost entire agreement with your noble sentiments.  But, as a good Christian, ought I to be so?  How do you stand with the one true faith in your heart and these opinions in your head, signor?”

The old man twinkled and a boyish smile lighted his aged countenance.

“A good question—­a shrewd thrust, Sir Walter.  There can be only one answer to that, my friend.  With God all things are possible.”

Henry laughed; his uncle was puzzled.

“You think that is no answer,” continued the Italian.  “But reason also must have a place in the sun, though we have to hide it in our pocket sometimes.  So many great men would not extinguish their light—­and had it extinguished for them.  A difficult subject.  Let us continue to think in compartments.  It is safer so.  If you are over eighty years old, you love safety.  But I love joy and romance also, and is not religion almost the only joy and romance left to us?  It is affirmation remember, not negation, that makes the world go round!  The ‘intellectuals’ forget that, and they are sterile accordingly.”

Signor Mannetti’s wits were something too nimble for his hearers.  He talked and talked—­about everything but the matter in their minds—­until half-past ten o’clock, when his man came after him.  Thereupon he rose, like an obedient child, and wished them “Good-night.”

“Stephano is my guardian angel,” he said—­“a being of painful punctuality.  But he adds years to my life.  He forgets nothing.  I wish you a kind farewell until to-morrow and offer grateful thanks for your welcome.  I breakfast in my room, if you please, and shall be ready at eleven o’clock to put myself at your service.  Then you will be so gracious as to answer me some questions, and I shall, please God, try to help you.”

CHAPTER XI

PRINCE DJEM

The master of Chadlands was both drawn and repelled by his guest.  Signor Mannetti revealed a type of mind entirely beyond the other’s experience, and while he often uttered sentiments with which Sir Walter found himself in cordial agreement, he also committed himself to a great many opinions that surprised and occasionally shocked the listener.  Sir Walter was also conscious that many words uttered flew above his understanding.  The old Italian could juggle with English almost as perfectly as he was able to do with his own language.  He had his country’s mastery of the phrase, the ironies, the double meanings, half malicious, half humorous, the outlook on humanity that delights to surprise—­the compliment that, on closer examination, proves really to be the reverse.  Mary’s father voiced his emotions when the visitor had gone to bed.