Vane’s restless vanity had just stimulated him to make a bid for notoriety on his own account, on lines more congenial to his cautious temper. Inspired by the example of certain distinguished writers of the French decadent school who had exchanged the Bacchic ivy for the Christian palm with evident benefit to their reputations, he had conceived the felicitous idea of publicly entering the Church of Rome. He had already in the press a volume of hymns composed in honour of various medieval saints, collectively entitled “A Rosary of Twilight,” and he trusted that the contrast between its mystic piety and the erotic breathings of his unregenerate muse would at last stir the reviewers out of their apathy. He had cherished the hope that a man of his importance would be deemed a proper subject for conversion by a Bishop. But the Roman authorities had taken, as usual, a severely practical view of the situation, and had intimated that the reception of a convert, however illustrious, was a matter to be regulated, like other ecclesiastical ceremonies, by the mundane consideration of fees. The cost of an episcopal welcome proved too severe a wrench for the mercenary instincts of the poet, but after a good deal of haggling he secured a monsignor, whose violet stockings made the function a moderate success in the dearth of by-elections and divorce suits. Wickham Vane, after a severe internal struggle, revolted on this occasion from his allegiance, and struck out a line of his own by embracing the tenets of the Theosophists. But the two brothers continued to live together in the same harmony as before, and it was remarkable that the priests who came from time to time to confirm the new Catholic in his faith found Wickham a much more interested listener, while the yogis and mahatmas who visited Wickham went away under the firm impression that it was his brother who was their disciple. The author of “A Rosary of Twilight” brought with him a presentation copy as an inexpensive form of wedding-present. Molly received it with gratification as a homage offered to her in the serious character of a Christian matron. But the page containing the inscription to Lord and Lady Alistair was the one that she read with most pleasure; indeed, it was the only one that she could understand. Her promotion had not wrought much change in Molly’s manners; there was no reason why it should, having regard to the tone of the most fashionable circles; but it had infused a distinct shade of condescension into her treatment of such of her acquaintance as were commoners. To the Chevalier Vane she accorded the courtesy due to his rank, but the untitled Wickham found himself almost snubbed.