The priest hesitated.

“You mean that, Monsignor?”

“Certainly.”

“Very well, then.”  He paused again.  “But it’s extraordinarily hard to know where to begin.”

“Begin anywhere.  It’s all new to me.”

“Very good.  Well, yes:  roughly we may say that the world is Christian, in the same sort of way, at least, in which Europe was Christian, say in the twelfth century.  There are survivals, of course, particularly in the East, where large districts still cling to their old superstitions; and there are even eminent men here and there who are not explicitly Catholics; but, as a whole, the world is Christian.”

“Do you mean Catholic?”

The priest stared a moment.

“Why, yes.  What else—–?”

“All right; go on.”

“Well then, to begin with England.  Catholicism is not yet established as the State Religion; but it’ll only be a question of time, and it may be said that all the laws are Christian.”

“Divorce?”

“Divorce was abolished thirty years ago, and fornication was made a felony ten years later,” said the priest quietly.  “Benefit of clergy also was restored three years ago; and we have our own courts for heresy, with power to hand over convicted criminals to the secular arm.”

“What?”

“Certainly.  It has been in force now for three years.”

“Then what do you mean by saying that the Church isn’t established?”

“I mean that no religious test is demanded of officers of state, and that bishops and abbots have no seat in Parliament.  It was the enfranchisement of women that turned the tide once and for all.”

“Do you mean that all women have the vote?”

“They are under the same conditions as men.  There’s a severe educational test now, of course.  Not more than about one in seventy adults ever get the vote at all.  But the result is that we’re governed by educated persons.”

“Stop.  Is it a Monarchy?”

“Certainly.  Edward IX—­a young man—­is on the throne.”

“Go on.”

“Christianity, then, holds the field.  Of course there are infidels left, who write letters to the newspapers sometimes, and hold meetings, and so on.  But they are practically negligible.  As regards Church property, practically everything has finally been given back to us;—­I mean in the way of buildings, and, very largely, revenues too.  All the cathedrals are ours, and all parish churches built before the Reformation, as well as all other churches in parishes where there was not organized Protestant resistance.”

“I thought you said there were no Protestants.”

Father Jervis suddenly laughed aloud.

“Monsignor, are you really serious?  Do you really mean you wish me to go on?”

“Good God, man!  I’m not playing a game. . . .  Go on, please.  Tell me about the Protestants.”

“Well, of course there are some Protestants left.  I think they’ve got four or five churches in London, and . . . and . . . yes, I’m sure of it, they’ve got some kind of bishop.  But really I scarcely know.  I shall have to look it up.”