Stella had not come back from Germany when Michael reached home, which was a disappointment as he had looked forward to planning with her a journey back to Spain as soon as possible. His mother during this vacation had lapsed from Mental Science into an association to prevent premature burial. “My dearest boy, you have no idea of the numbers of people buried alive every year,” she said. “I have been talking to Dick Prescott about it. I cannot understand his indifference. I intend to devote all my time to it. We are going to organize a large bazaar next season. Banging their foreheads against the coffins! It’s dreadful to think of. Do be careful, Michael. I have written a long letter to Stella explaining all the precautions she ought to take. Who knows what may happen in Germany? Such an impulsive nation. At least the Kaiser is. Don’t laugh, my dear boy, it’s so much more serious than you think. Would you like to come with me to Mrs. Carruthers’ and hear some of the statistics? Gruesome, but most instructive. At three o’clock. You needn’t wait for tea, if you’re busy. The lecturer is an Eurasian. Where _is_ Eurasia, by the by?” Michael kissed his mother with affectionate amusement. “Will you wear the mantilla I brought you from Spain? Look, it’s as light as burnt tissue paper.” “Dearest Michael,” she murmured reproachfully, “you ought not to laugh about sacred subjects.... I don’t really see why we shouldn’t have a car. We must have a consultation with Dick Prescott.” After dinner that night Michael wrapped up some stained and faded vestments he had brought for Viner and went off to see him at Netting Hill. He told himself guiltily in the hansom that it was more than a year since he had been to see old Viner, but the priest was so heartily glad to welcome him and accepted so enthusiastically his propitiatory gifts, that he felt as much at ease as ever in the smoke-hung room. “Well, how’s Oxford? I was coming up last term, but I couldn’t get away. Have you been to see Sandifer yet? Or Pallant at Cowley, or Canon Harrowell?” Michael said he had not yet taken advantage of Viner’s letters of introduction to these dignitaries. He had indeed heard Pallant preach at the church of the Cowley Fathers, but he had thought him too much inclined to sacrifice on the altar of empirical science. “I hate compromise,” said Michael. “I don’t think Pallant compromises, but I think he does get hold of men by offering them Catholic doctrine in terms of the present.” Michael shrugged his shoulders. “This visit to Spain seems to have made you very bigoted,” Viner observed, smiling.