"You are not under the impression," he said, with a smile, as they walked side by side, "that the Old Testament is responsible for those horrors we have just been speaking of?" "They are in _that_ spirit. My reading of the New omits everything of the kind." "So does mine. But we have no justification." "We can select what is useful to us, and reject what does harm." "Yes; but then--" He did not finish the sentence, and they went into the pictured Loggia. Here, choosing out his favourites, Mallard endeavoured to explain all his joy in them. He showed her how it was Hebrew history made into a series of exquisite and touching legends; he dwelt on the sweet, idyllic treatment, the lovely landscape, the tender idealism throughout, the perfect adaptedness of gem-like colouring. Miriam endeavoured to see with his eyes, but did not pretend to be wholly successful. The very names were discordant to her ear. "I will buy some photographs of them to take away," she said. "Don't do that; they are useless. Colour and design are here inseparable." They stayed not more than half an hour; then left the Vatican together, and walked to the front of St. Peter's in silence. Mallard looked at his watch. "You are going back to the hotel?" "I suppose so." "Shall I call one of those carriages?--I am going to have a walk on to the Janiculum." She glanced at the sky. "There will be a fine view to-day." "You wouldn't care to come so far?" "Yes, I should enjoy the walk." "To walk? It would tire you too much." "Oh no!" replied Miriam, looking away and smiling. "You mustn't think I am what I was that winter at Naples. I can walk a good many miles, and only feel better for it." Her tone amused him, for it became something like that of a child in self-defence when accused of some childlike incapacity. "Then let us go, by all means." They turned into the Borgo San Spirito, and then went by the quiet Longara. Mallard soon found that it was necessary to moderate his swinging stride. He was not in the habit of walking with ladies, and he felt ashamed of himself when a glance told him that his companion was put to overmuch exertion. The glance led him to observe Miriam's gait; its grace and refinement gave him a sudden sensation of keen pleasure. He thought, without wishing to do so, of Cecily; her matchless, maidenly charm in movement was something of quite another kind. Mrs. Baske trod the common earth, yet with, it seemed to him, a dignity that distinguished her from ordinary women. There had been silence for a long time. They were alike in the custom of forgetting what had last been said, or how long since. "Do you care for sculpture?" Mallard asked, led to the inquiry by his thoughts of form and motion. "Yes; but not so much as for painting." He noticed a reluctance in her voice, and for a moment was quite unconscious of the reason for it. But reflection quickly explained her slight embarrassment.