“Yes, it has given that to the world,” the priest said. “A menial who averts her eyes--a child who is inanimate by force of being kept ‘good’--a ‘good’ child. My son, a ‘good’ child is a thing to make the angels cry; for is it not recorded of our Comforter that once He struck His mother?” “But should not the nursemaid avert her eyes?” Grimshaw said. “Consider,” the black pope answered, “with what a laughing glance she would have passed you had she been a Cypriote; or how she would have gazed till her eyes started from her head at an English Bishop. But as for this girl, she averts her gaze. Her aunt has told her that it might be used against her.” “It might be used against her, you know,” Grimshaw said. “Oh, my son,” the priest said, “for what has God given a maiden eyes, save to use them in innocent glances? And what use is the teaching of our Church if passer-by may not smile upon passer-by and pass the time of day by well-heads and in the shady groves? It may be used against them. But tell me this, my son: Are there not four times more fallen women and brothels in one-half of this city than in all Greece and Cyprus and the Isles?” “Yet there there is not one such nursemaid,” Grimshaw said. “And it is that that our civilization has bent all its energies to produce. That, without doubt, is why you and I are lonely here.” He added: “But is it not wiser to strive to produce nursemaids?” “Son,” the priest asked, “will you not come with me and confess your troubles? For I am very certain that you have troubles. You have, is it not, done what you wanted; you are now, therefore, taking what you get for it? I have heard you say, may God pardon the ill you have done! It is not that you regret having rained your cigarettes upon that poor man?” “Ah, I regret that less than other things,” Grimshaw said. “Because you asked him first for the service of a light?” “Why,” Grimshaw answered, “in this case I had really need of a light. But I confess that quite often I have asked poor men for lights when I had my own, that I might give them a taste of good tobacco.” “And why did you first ask them for a light?” the priest asked. “Was it that they might not be demoralized?” “I hardly know,” Grimshaw said. “I think it was to get into touch with them--to precede the pleasure of the tobacco with the pleasure of having done me a service. One doesn’t inquire so closely into one’s motives.” “Ah,” the black pope answered, “from that alone one may perceive that you are not English, for the English do not, like you, seek to come into contact with their fellow-beings or with persons whom they may meet by chance. They are always afraid of entanglements--that it may be used against them.”