Mr Hare raised no objection, and the two men descended the staircase into the long stony corridor.  The quadrangle filled the diamond panes of the latticed windows with green, and the divine walking to and fro was a spot of black.  There were pictures along the walls of the corridor—­pictures of upturned faces and clasped hands—­and these drew words of commiseration for the artistic ignorance of the College authorities from John’s lips.

“And they actually believe that that dreadful monk with the skull is a real Ribera....  The chapel is on the right, the refectory on the left.  Come, let us see the chapel; I am anxious to hear what you think of my window.”

“It ought to be very handsome; it cost five hundred, did it not?”

“No, not quite so much as that,” John answered abruptly; and then, passing through the communion rails, they stood under the multi-coloured glory of three bishops.  Mr Hare felt that a good deal of rapture was expected of him; but in his efforts to praise, he felt he was exposing his ignorance.  John called attention to the transparency of the green-watered skies; and turning their backs on the bishops, the blue ceiling with the gold stars was declared, all things considered, to be in excellent taste.  The benches in the body of the church were for boys; the carved chairs set along both walls between the communion rails and the first steps of the altar were for the divines.  The president and vice-president knelt facing each other.  The priests, deacons, and sub-deacons followed according to their rank.  There were slenderer benches, and these were for the choir; and from a music-book placed on wings of the great golden eagle, the leader conducted the singing.

The side altar, with the rich Turkey carpet spread over the steps, was St George’s, and further on, in an addition made lately, there were two more altars, dedicated respectively to the Virgin and St Joseph.

“The maid-servants kneel in that corner.  I have often suggested that they should be moved out of sight.  You do not understand me.  Protestantism has always been more reconciled to the presence of women in sacred places than we.  We would wish them beyond the precincts.  And it is easy to imagine how the unspeakable feminality of those maid-servants jars a beautiful impression—­the altar towering white with wax candles, the benedictive odour of incense, the richness of the vestments, treble voices of boys floating, and the sweetness of a long day spent about the sanctuary with flowers and chalices in my hands, fade in a sense of sullen disgust, in a revulsion of feeling which I will not attempt to justify.”

Then his thoughts, straying back to sudden recollections of monastic usages and habits, he said: 

“I should like to scourge them out of this place.”  And then, half playfully, half seriously, and wholly conscious of the grotesqueness, he added: 

“Yes, I am not at all sure that a good whipping would not do them good.  They should be well whipped.  I believe that there is much to be said in favour of whipping.”