f the body were tied to him. They
stood before a wonderful coloured alabaster reredos of the fourteenth
century, in which shepherds and kings and beasts came to worship at the
manger. They had a little conversation as to the architectural periods of
the nave, choir, and transepts, and Langton was enthusiastic over a noble
pillar and arch. Beyond they gazed in silence at a statue of Our Lady
Immaculate in modern coloured plaster, so arranged that the daylight
fell through an unseen opening upon her. Among the objects in front were
a pair of Renaissance candlesticks of great beauty. A French officer came
up and arranged and lit a votive candle as they watched, and then went
back to stand in silence by a pillar. The church door banged and two
peasants came in, one obviously from the market, with a huge basket of
carrots and cabbages and some long, thin French loaves. She deposited
this just inside the door, took holy water, clattered up towards the high
altar, dropped a curtsy, and made her way to an altar of the Sacred
Heart, at which she knelt. Peter sighed. "Come on," he said; "let's
get out."

Langton marched on before him, and held the door back as they stepped
into the street. "Well, philosopher," he demanded, "what do you make of
that?"

Peter smiled. "What do you?" he said.

"Well," said Langton, "it leaves me unmoved, except when I'm annoyed by
the way their wretched images spoil the church, but it is plain that they
like it. I should say one of your two realities is there. But I find it
hard to forgive the bad art."

"Do you?" said Peter, "I don't. It reminds me of those appalling
enlargements of family groups that you see, for example, in any Yorkshire
cottage. They are unutterably hideous, but they stand for a real thing
that is honest and beautiful--the love of home and family. And by the
same token, when the photographs got exchanged, as they do in Mayfair,
for modern French pictures of nude women, or some incredible Futurist
extravagance, that love has usually flown out of the window."

"Humph!" said Langton--"not always. Besides, why can't a family group be
made artistically, and so keep both art and love? I should think we ought
to aim at that."

"I suppose we ought," said Peter, "but in our age the two don't seem to
go together. Goodness alone knows why. Why, hullo!" he broke off.

"What's up now?" demanded Langton.

"Why, there, across the street, if that isn't a nurse I know from Havre,
I don'