The cardinal opened his breviary at Sext; and made the sign of the cross.
George returned to the dining-room; and sat down in the cane folding-chair which the cardinal had vacated. He lighted the cigarette rolled during conversation. Flavio had taken possession of the seat lately occupied by the bishop, a deep-cushioned wickerwork armchair; and was very majestically posed, haunches broad and high and yellow as a cocoon, the beautiful brush displayed at length, forepaws daintily tucked inward under the paler breast, the grand head guardant.
A shameless female began to shriek scales and roulades in an opposite house. George made plans for blasting her with a mammoth gramophone which should bray nothing but trumpet-choruses out of his open windows. He smoked his cigarette to the butt, eyeing the cat. Then he said,
“Boy, where are we?”
Flavio winked and turned away his head, as who should say,
“Obviously here.”
George accepted the hint. He went upstairs, and changed into black serge: borrowed a few sovereigns from his landlord: ate his lunch of bread and milk; and took the L. and N.W. Rail to Highbury. Walking away from the station amid the blatant and vivacious inurbanity of Islington Upper Street, he kept his mental processes inactive—the higher mental processes of induction and deduction, the faculties of criticism and judgment. His method was Aristotelean, in that he drew his universals from a consideration of numerous particulars. He had plenty of material for thought; and he stored it till the time for thinking came. Now, he was out of doors for the sake of physical exercise. Also, he was getting the morning’s events into perspective. At present his mind resembled warm wax on a tablet, wherein externals inscribed but transient impressions—an obese magenta Jewess with new boots which had a white line round their idiotic high heels—a baby with neglected nostrils festooned over the side of a mail-cart—a neat boy’s leg, long and singularly well-turned, extended in the act of mounting a bicycle—an Anglican sister-of-mercy displaying side-spring prunellos and one eye in a haberdasher’s violent window—a venerable shy drudge of a piano-tuner whose left arm was dragged down by the weight of the unmistakable little bag of tools—the weary anxious excruciating asking look in the eyes of all. He made his way southwestward, walking till he was tired for an hour and a half.
Anon, he was lying face downward in the calidarium of the bath, a slim white form, evenly muscular, boyishly fine and smooth. His forehead rested on his crossed arms, veiling his eyes. He came here, because here he was unknown: the place, with its attendants and frequenters, was quite strange to him: he would not be bored by the banalities of familiar tractators; and an encounter with any of his acquaintance was out of the question. From time to time he refreshed himself in the shower: but, while his procumbent body was at rest in the hot oxygenated air, he let his mind work easily and quickly. After two hours, he concluded his bath with a long cold plunge; and retired rosily tingling to the unctuarium to smoke. Here he made the following entries in his pocketbook:
“Have I been fair to them? Yes: but unmerciful. N.B. For an act to be really good and meritorious, it must be performed voluntarily and with self-compulsion.
“What have I gained? A verbal promise of priesthood, and a verbal promise of five thousand pounds. M‑ym‑ym‑ym‑ym‑ym‑ym.
“What has he gained? If he’s honest, the evacuation of a purulent abscess, the allegiance of a man who wants to be faithful, and perhaps the merit of saving a soul. N.B. There was unwillingness and self-compulsion in him.
“Why was he so timid?
“A great part of what I said was gratuitously exasperating. Why did he stand it?
“What does he know that I don’t know?
“What do I know that he doesn’t know?
“What salient things have I, in my usual manner, left unsaid?
“Did I say more than enough?
“Have I given myself away again?
“Is he honest?
“What was his real motive?
“Oh why did he humiliate himself so?
“Don’t know. Don’t know. Don’t know.
“Now what shall I do? Advance one pace. ‘Do ye nexte thynge.’ ”
As he was powdering his vaccinated arm with borax before dressing, he said to himself, “Go into Berners Street, and buy a gunmetal stock and two dozen Roman collars (with a seam down the middle if you can get them); and then go to Scott’s and buy a flat hat. The black serge will have to do as it is. If they don’t like a jacket, let them dislike it. And then go home and examine your conscience.”
The bishop locked the parlour-door: took the crucifix from the mantel and stood it on the table: kissed the cross embroidered on the little violet stole which he had brought with him, and put it over his shoulders. He sat down rectangularly to the end of the table, his left cheek toward the crucifix, his back to the penitent. George kneeled on the floor by the side of the table, in face of the crucifix: made the sign of the cross; and began,
“Bless me, O father, for I have sinned.”
“May The Lord be in thine heart and on thy lips, that thou with truth and with humility mayest confess thy sins, ✠ in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“I confess to God Almighty, to Blessed Mary Ever-Virgin, to Blessed Michael Archangel, to Blessed John Baptist, to the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, to all Saints, and to thee, O Father, that I excessively have sinned in thought, in word, and in deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my very great fault. I last confessed five days ago: received absolution: performed my penance. Since then I broke the first commandment, once, by being superstitiously silly enough to come downstairs in socks because I accidentally put on my left shoe before my right: twice, by
