“Oh, I do not say that,” answered Caliphronas lightly. “No doubt you people who mortify the flesh, who listen to the voice of conscience, who consider the soul more than the body, and who look upon this life as a preparation for a future existence, are happy in your self-torturings. All that sort of thing came in with Anno Domini, and made the mediæval ages a hell of anguish; but I—I am a Greek—a pagan, if it pleases you—who looks on this world not as a prison, but as a garden wherein to live happily. Your mourning Man of Sorrows is entirely opposed to our joyous Apollo, your gloomy views of life to our serenity of temperament. The difference is plain: for you, a Christian, cannot understand the joyous songs of Paganism; I, a pagan, shudder at your penitential psalms of Christianity. We would neither of us ever convince the other, therefore an argument which has not a common basis from which to start is unprofitable.” “I am not going to argue,” replied Carriston, smiling, “and I agree with you that arguments are unprofitable. Unless the change takes place in your own breast, it would be worse than useless for me to attempt to reason with you. But you are evidently not of the opinion of an Elizabethan ancestor of mine, among whose papers I discovered the following lyric:— “Oh, shall we pass contented days, Unheeding Fortune’s crown of bays, Which decks the brows Of those whose vows Compel them to incessant strife And restless life? Ah no; tho’ pleasing to the sense, This cloying life of indolence But fills the soul With weary dole, And turns the sweet, which doth us bless, To bitterness.” “Your Elizabethan ancestor was not healthy-minded,” said Caliphronas coolly; “if he had been he would never have written such silly verses. It is your unhealthy life, your unhealthy bodies, which breed such restlessness in you.” “At all events, that restlessness has made England what she is,” replied the Rector, rather nettled at the rudeness of the Greek. “A land of money-worship, a land of noisy steam-engines, a land of poverty and wealth—extremes in both cases. Yes, I quite believe your restless spirit has brought you to this satisfactory state of things. Come, sir,” added the Count, with a charming smile, seeing the Rector was rather annoyed, “let us agree to differ. For me, Greece—for you, England; for me, Nature—for you, Art. Two parallel straight lines cannot meet.” Carriston laughed at this way of settling the question, but made no further remarks, and after a desultory conversation between all four gentlemen had ensued, they went into the drawing-room to join the ladies.