Still Basil was tolerant enough. But this case which had thrust itself before him was quite different. He knew that the burlesque, the modern music play, made, first and foremost, a frank appeal to the senses. Its hopeless vulgarity and coarseness of sentiment, its entire lack of appeal to anything that was not debased and materialistic, were ordinary indisputable facts of every-day life. And so his lady of evensong was a high-priestess of nothing better than this cult of froth and gaudy sensuality. More than all others, his experiences of late had taught him that women of this class seemed to be very nearly soulless. Their souls had dissolved in champagne, their consciences were burnt up by the feverish excitement and pleasure of their lives. They sold themselves for luxury and the adulation of coarse men. His very chagrin made him bitter and contemptuous more than his wont. Then his eye lit upon a photogravure hung upon the opposite wall. It was the reproduction of a quaint, decorative, stilted picture by an artist of the early Umbrian school, and represented St. Mary Magdalene. The coincidence checked his contemptuous thoughts. He began to reconstruct the scene in his brain, a favourite and profitable exercise of his, using his knowledge and study of the old dim times to animate the picture and make it vivid. They were all resting, or rather lying, around the table, the body resting on the couch, the feet turned away from the table in the direction of the wall, while the left elbow rested on the table. And then, from the open courtyard, up the verandah step, perhaps through an antechamber, and by the open door, passed the figure of a woman into the festive reception-room and dining-hall. How had she gained access? How incongruous her figure must have been there! In those days the Jewish prejudice against any conversation with women--even those of the most lofty character--was extreme. The shadow of her form must have fallen on all who sat at meat. But no one spoke, nor did she heed any but One only. The woman had brought with her an _alabastron_ of perfume. It was a flask of precious _foliatum_, probably, which women wore round the neck, and which hung over the breast. The woman stood behind Him at His feet, and as she bowed reverently a shower of tears, like sudden summer rain, "bedewed" His feet. Basil went through the whole scene until the final, "Go _into_ peace" not go _in_ peace, as the logical dogmatics would have had it. And so she, the first who had come to Him for spiritual healing, went out into the better light, and into the eternal peace of the Kingdom of Heaven. Basil tore up the vulgar little photograph and forgot that aspect of the dancer. He remembered rather the dim figure by the font. There was a sudden furious knocking on the outer door of the chambers, and he went to open it. CHAPTER XII POWERS OF GOOD AND EVIL