"We have the poet's authority," he responded, in a softly patient
voice, "for saying that he believed only half."

There was a little rustle of leaves, as if people were looking over
their books, in order to find the passage to which he alluded. Then a
young girl in the front row of chairs, a pretty creature, just on the
edge of womanhood, looked up earnestly, her finger at a line on the
page before her.

"I can't make out what this means," she announced, knitting her girlish
brow,--

"'Here, we've got callous to the Virgin's winks
That used to puzzle people wholesomely.'"

"Of course he can't mean that the Madonna winks; that would be too
irreverent."

There were little murmurs of satisfaction that the question had been
asked, confusing explanations which evidently puzzled some who had not
thought of being confused before; and then another girl, ignoring the
fact that the first difficulty had not been disposed of, propounded
another.

"Isn't the phrase rather bold," she asked, "where he speaks of 'blessed
evil?'"

"Where is that?" some one asked.

"On page 106, in my edition," was the reply; and a couple of moments