“My dear sir, worship involves a touch of mystery. You must remember that. It was the lack of that that made Empire Day fail in the last century. For myself, I think it is admirable. Of course much must depend on the manner in which it is presented. I see many details at present undecided--the colour of the curtains, and so forth. But the main plan is magnificent. It is simple, impressive, and, above all, it is unmistakable in its main lesson---” “And that you take to be--?” “I take it that it is homage offered to Life,” said the other slowly. “Life under four aspects--Maternity corresponds to Christmas and the Christian fable; it is the feast of home, love, faithfulness. Life itself is approached in spring, teeming, young, passionate. Sustenance in midsummer, abundance, comfort, plenty, and the rest, corresponding somewhat to the Catholic Corpus Christi; and Paternity, the protective, generative, masterful idea, as winter draws on.... I understand it was a German thought.” Oliver nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And I suppose it will be the business of the speaker to explain all this.” “I take it so. It appears to me far more suggestive than the alternative plan--Citizenship, Labour, and so forth. These, after all, are subordinate to Life.” Mr. Francis spoke with an extraordinary suppressed enthusiasm, and the priestly look was more evident than ever. It was plain that his heart at least demanded worship. Mabel clasped her hands suddenly. “I think it is beautiful,” she said softly, “and--and it is so real.” Mr. Francis turned on her with a glow in his brown eyes. “Ah! yes, madam. That is it. There is no Faith, as we used to call it: it is the vision of Facts that no one can doubt; and the incense declares the sole divinity of Life as well as its mystery.” “What of the figures?” put in Oliver. “A stone image is impossible, of course. It must be clay for the present. Mr. Markenheim is to set to work immediately. If the figures are approved they can then be executed in marble.” Again Mabel spoke with a soft gravity. “It seems to me,” she said, “that this is the last thing that we needed. It is so hard to keep our principles clear--we must have a body for them--some kind of expression---” She paused. “Yes, Mabel?” “I do not mean,” she went on, “that some cannot live without it, but many cannot. The unimaginative need concrete images. There must be some channel for their aspirations to flow through--- Ah! I cannot express myself!” Oliver nodded slowly. He, too, seemed to be in a meditative mood. “Yes,” he said. “And this, I suppose, will mould men’s thoughts too: it will keep out all danger of superstition.” Mr. Francis turned on him abruptly. “What do you think of the Pope’s new Religious Order, sir?” Oliver’s face took on it a tinge of grimness.