“Finest thing the world has produced,” said Jim.

“No.  A thing which sets itself up to be betrayed!  No, it’s foul.  Don’t you see it’s the Judas principle you really worship.  Judas is the real hero.  But for Judas the whole show would have been manque.”

“Oh yes,” said Jim.  “Judas was inevitable.  I’m not sure that Judas wasn’t the greatest of the disciples—­and Jesus knew it.  I’m not sure Judas wasn’t the disciple Jesus loved.”

“Jesus certainly encouraged him in his Judas tricks,” said Tanny.

Jim grinned knowingly at Lilly.

“Then it was a nasty combination.  And anything which turns on a Judas climax is a dirty show, to my thinking.  I think your Judas is a rotten, dirty worm, just a dirty little self-conscious sentimental twister.  And out of all Christianity he is the hero today.  When people say Christ they mean Judas.  They find him luscious on the palate.  And Jesus fostered him—­” said Lilly.

“He’s a profound figure, is Judas.  It’s taken two thousand years to begin to understand him,” said Jim, pushing the bread and marmalade into his mouth.

“A traitor is a traitor—­no need to understand any further.  And a system which rests all its weight on a piece of treachery makes that treachery not only inevitable but sacred.  That’s why I’m sick of Christianity.—­At any rate this modern Christ-mongery.”

“The finest thing the world has produced, or ever will produce—­Christ and Judas—­” said Jim.

“Not to me,” said Lilly.  “Foul combination.”

It was a lovely morning in early March.  Violets were out, and the first wild anemones.  The sun was quite warm.  The three were about to take out a picnic lunch.  Lilly however was suffering from Jim’s presence.

“Jolly nice here,” said Jim.  “Mind if I stay till Saturday?”

There was a pause.  Lilly felt he was being bullied, almost obscenely bullied.  Was he going to agree?  Suddenly he looked up at Jim.

“I’d rather you went tomorrow,” he said.

Tanny, who was sitting opposite Jim, dropped her head in confusion.

“What’s tomorrow?” said Jim.

“Thursday,” said Lilly.

“Thursday,” repeated Jim.  And he looked up and got Lilly’s eye.  He wanted to say “Friday then?”

“Yes, I’d rather you went Thursday,” repeated Lilly.

“But Rawdon—!” broke in Tanny, who was suffering.  She stopped, however.

“We can walk across country with you some way if you like,” said Lilly to Jim.  It was a sort of compromise.

“Fine!” said Jim.  “We’ll do that, then.”

It was lovely sunshine, and they wandered through the woods.  Between Jim and Tanny was a sort of growing rapprochement, which got on Lilly’s nerves.

“What the hell do you take that beastly personal tone for?” cried Lilly at Tanny, as the three sat under a leafless great beech-tree.