And he laughed again; but no one joined in the laugh except Blanco Serena, who was not a little amused. There was a general feeling of discomfort, to relieve which Gavrolles went to his bookcase, and took down several new importations from France. Passed from hand to hand, these works were freely and generally discussed; but when they reached Crieff, that rude person again shocked the sensibilities of his companions. ‘The literature of the Lollipop,’ he said with a grin. ‘Somehow I never touch any of it without feeling nasty; “sticky” all over, as it were.’ ‘To the mind of a Philistine,’ observed the critic Gass, severely, ‘such things do not appeal. I regret to see that a certain person, who shall be nameless, is drifting more and more into moral Philistinism. Well, he will at least be able to say, “Et ego in Arcadia fui,” when it is too late to return.’ Crieff laughed good-humouredly. ‘I dare say it is my early training,’ he said, ‘and the fact that I was taught to respect all women in the person of my mother. But here is my friend Sutherland, who is a Philistine of Philistines, for he actually believes, with St. Benedict, that the law of purity is binding upon both sexes alike, and in his benighted eyes your Gautier, your Baudelaire, and “hoc genus omne” are simply dirty descendants of Sir Pandarus of Troy.’ ‘I sincerely hope you are libelling your friend,’ observed the critic, glancing at Sutherland. ‘Personal purity, as you call it, is simply a reminiscence of asceticism, and one of the many fallacies we owe to the mediaeval perversions of Christianity.’ ‘Bosh,’ returned Crieff, bluntly. Sutherland, who throughout the conversation had scarcely taken his eyes off Gavrolles, now spoke. ‘I am neither an ascetic nor a Puritan, but I must frankly confess that the literature you are discussing excites my strongest abhorrence. Whatever is unfit for a pure woman to read is unfit to be read by a pure man. Would you give these books to your wives and sisters--that is the question?’ ‘Certainly,’ cried Ponto from the other side of the room. ‘Provided their aesthetic education had been complete, they would find nothing but pleasure from the perusal. Why in Heaven’s name should Woman remain for ever the slave of Virtue? I would make her the archpriestess of the Beautiful, ministering to mortals in all the passionate nudity of Art.’ ‘And you, monsieur?’ said Sutherland, turning suddenly to Gavrolles. ‘What is your opinion?’ ‘Oh, I am an artiste,’ answered the Frenchman, with a shrug of the shoulders and an unpleasant smile. ‘I, too, would make woman the priestess of Beauty. Ah, yes, with the greatest of possible pleasure!’ The words were of little meaning, but the tone was significant, and a titter went round the room. Sutherland’s face darkened. ‘I presume that your experience of the sex is large?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘Gentlemen of your nation are generally fortunate-----’