“It certainly did so,” replied John,—­“and I’m afraid I am arrogant enough to be satisfied with the general result so far as it goes,—­ with the exception of the eastern window, of course!”

“Ah, that eastern window!” sighed the Reverend ‘Putty’ with an air of aesthetic languor which was in comical contrast with his coarse and commonplace appearance; “That is a sad, sad flaw!  A terrible incongruity!”

“I made up my mind from the first,” pursued Walden, his equable voice seeming to float pleasantly on the tide of music with which the little sanctuary was just then filled; “that nothing but the most genuine and authentic old stained glass should fill that fine circular rose carving, and those lance apertures; so I am collecting it slowly, bit by bit, for this purpose.  It will take time and patience, no doubt,—­but I think and hope that success will be the end of the task I have set myself.  In the meantime, of course, the effect of plain glass where there should be only the richest colouring is decidedly ’crude’!”

He smiled slightly, and there was an uncomfortable pause.  Sir Morton Pippitt took out a voluminous red handkerchief covered with yellow spots and blew his nose violently therein while the Reverend Mr. Leveson nodded his large head blandly, as one who receives doubtful information with kindly tolerance.  Mr. Marius Longford looked faintly amused.

“I understand!” said the light of the ‘Savile and Savage,’ slowly; “You seek perfection!”

He smiled a pallid smile; but on the whole surveyed Walden with more interest than he had hitherto done.  Julian Adderley, who had during the last couple of minutes stepped up to the chancel, now stood gazing at the sarcophagus of the supposed Saint with a kind of melancholy interest.  Reading the only legible words of the inscription in sotto voce, he sighed drearily.

“’ In—­Resurrectione—­Sanctorum—­Resurget!’ How simple!—­how new!—­ how fresh!  To think that anyone ever held such a child’s faith!”

“The Church is still supposed to hold it,” said Walden steadily, “And her ministers also.  Otherwise, religion is a farce, and its professors much less honest than the trusted servant who steals his master’s money!”

Marius Longford smiled, and stroked one feline whisker thoughtfully.

“So you actually believe what you preach!” he murmured—­“Strange!  You are more of an antiquity than the consecrated dust enclosed in that alabaster!  Believe me!”

“Much more,—­much, more!” exclaimed the fantastic Adderley; “To believe in anything at all is so remote!—­so very remote!—­and yet so new—­so fresh!”

Walden made no reply.  He never argued on religious matters; moreover, with persons minded in the manner of those before him, it seemed useless to even offer an opinion.  They exchanged meaning glances with each other, and followed Sir Morton, who was now moving down the central aisle of the church towards the door of exit, holding the Duke of Lumpton familiarly by the arm, and accompanied by Lord Mawdenham.  Walden walked silently with them, till, passing out of the church, they all stood in a group on the broad gravelled pathway which led to the open road, where the Pippitt equipage, a large waggonette and pair, stood waiting, together with a bicycle, the property of the Reverend Mr. Leveson.