Sir Thomas was silent a moment.

“But he had thoughts of it before, I suppose,” he said, “or he would not have gone to her.  In fact, you said so.”

Ralph acknowledged that this was so.

“—­And for several years,” went on the other.

Again Ralph assented.

“And his tastes and habits are those of a monk, I suppose.  He is long at his prayers, given to silence, and of a tranquil spirit?”

“He is not always tranquil,” said Ralph.  “He is impertinent sometimes.”

“Yes, yes; we all are that.  I was very impertinent to you at dinner in trying to catch you with Martial his epigram, though I shall not offend again.  But his humour may be generally tranquil in spite of it.  Well, if that is so, I do not see why you need trouble about the Holy Maid.  He would likely have been a monk without that.  She only confirmed him.”

“But,” went on Ralph, fighting to get back to the point, “if I thought she was trustworthy I should be the more happy.”

“There must always be doubtfulness,” said More, “in such matters.  That is why the novitiate is so severe; it is to show the young men the worst at once.  I do not think you need be unhappy about your brother.”

“And what is your view about the Holy Maid?” asked Ralph, suddenly delivering his point.

More stopped in his walk, cocked his head a little on one side like a clever dog, and looked at his companion with twinkling eyes.

“It is a delicate subject,” he said, and went on again.

“That is what puzzles me,” said Ralph.  “Will you not tell me your opinion, Mr. More?”

There was again a silence, and they reached the further end of the gallery and turned again before Sir Thomas answered.

“If you had not answered me so briskly at dinner, Mr. Torridon, do you know that I should have suspected you of coming to search me out.  But such a good head, I think, cannot be allied with a bad heart, and I will tell you.”

Ralph felt a prick of triumph but none of remorse.

“I will tell you,” went on More, “and I am sure you will keep it private.  I think the Holy Maid is a good woman who has a maggot.”

Ralph’s spirits sank again.  This was a very non-committing answer.

“I do not think her a knave as some do, but I think, to refer to what we said just now, that she has a large and luminous eye, and no hand worth mentioning.  She sees many visions, but few facts.  That tale about the Host being borne by angels from Calais to my mind is nonsense.  Almighty God does not work miracles without reason, and there is none for that.  The blessed sacrament is the same at Dover as at Calais.  And a woman who can dream that can dream anything, for I am sure she did not invent it.  On other matters, therefore, she may be dreaming too, and that is why once more I tell you that to my mind you can leave her out of your thoughts with regard to your brother.  She is neither prophetess nor pythoness.”