“I weighed all that when I stood for the Priestship. I had weighed it all before. I never met a woman for whom I entertained any serious affection.” “And now you are too old.” “Now it is against the Law of the Temple.” “For a wife, yes. I shouldn’t advise a wife at your age.” “St Armand! You forget my position.” “It is too spiritual--and, on the other hand, you take me to be too fleshly. There is no law forbidding you to make a friend of a woman.” “The situation would be compromising. I am not a great advocate of the Platonic friendship. Besides, where is the intellectual woman I am to treat as a friend? She would bore me with her pedantry in five minutes. That cure is out of it altogether.” “You don’t need an intellectual woman. For intellect go to the men. You want a woman to amuse you.” “Were my blood not so cold that would sound dangerous. I am afraid the situation would be compromising.” “You wish to remain young? To keep the old zest of life? How has Barringcourt done it?” “I don’t know that he has, except in my dream.” “I think somehow you will find it true.” “Then he has done it by never caring, never worrying, never drudging, as I have had to do.” “And women? Surely you will allow them some little share in this successful living?” “He was even less fond of women than I.” “Ah yes--‘women.’ I never advocate women to any man. You want some one to amuse you. Make a study of a life entirely unlike your own--the simpler the life, the more innocent, the better. You say women have never interested you--but here and there, just where you wouldn’t expect it, there are very interesting specimens of womankind. Your age and position are safeguards sufficient against any deeper feeling. Or, did you ever feel it, you are strong enough to resist temptation.” Thus he spoke, plausibly and hollow--the High Priest, with half-closed eyes, listening the persuasive voice. How easy it all sounded! What would he not give to get back his old powers! How sympathetic St Armand was! And he so old--must from experience surely speak the truth, for his preservation and love of life were wonderful and quite intact. “Your proposition is certainly novel--to one of my life at least. I am thinking of the families round--the lady who has most tastes in common with myself.” St Armand noticed his mind was not exactly travelling where he wished it, but was too wise to speak. But he said, speaking softly, the tone in his voice almost a command: “She must be young.” “Impossible. The younger generation are frightened of me. They speak to me in monosyllables only.” “For all that, she must be young. You will understand some day what I mean, Alphonso. A young woman is the most wonderful preservative of life a man can have. Do not misunderstand me. The relationship need not be a very near one; the majority of men are kept young by their own children--you have none.” Then suddenly Alphonso got up.