CHAPTER II.
(I) "I shall be delighted, Monsignor," said the thin, clever-faced statesman, in his high, dry voice; "I shall be delighted to sketch out what seem to me the principal points in the century's development." A profound silence fell upon all the table.
Really, Monsignor Masterman thought to himself, as he settled down to listen, he had done very well so far.

He had noticed the old priest opposite smiling more than once, contentedly, as their eyes met.
Father Jervis had come to him as he had promised, for half an hour's good talk before lunch; and they had spent a very earnest thirty minutes together.

First they had discussed with great care all the persons who would be present at lunch--not more than eight, besides themselves; the priest had given him a little plan of the table, showing where each would sit, and had described their personal appearance and recounted a salient fact or two about every one.

These were all priests except Mr.Manners himself and his secretary.

The rest of the time had been occupied in information being given to the man who had lost his memory, with regard to a few very ordinary subjects of conversation--the extraordinary fairness of the weather; a new opera produced with unparalleled success by a "well-known" composer of whom Monsignor had never heard; a recent Eucharistic congress in Tokio, from which the Cardinal had just returned; and the scheme for redecorating the interior of Archbishop's House.
There had not been time for more; but these subjects, under the adroit handling of Father Jervis, had proved sufficient; and up to the preconcerted moment when Monsignor had uttered the sentence about his study of Mr.Manners' _History of Twentieth Century Development_ which had drawn from the author the words recorded above, all had gone perfectly smoothly.
There had been a few minor hitches; for example, the food and the manner of serving it and the proper method of consuming it had furnished a bad moment or two; and once Monsignor had been obliged to feign sudden deafness on being asked a question on a subject of which he knew nothing by a priest whose name he had forgotten, until Father Jervis slid in adroitly and saved him.
Yet these were quite unnoticed, it appeared, and could easily be attributed to the habit of absent-mindedness for which, Monsignor Masterman was relieved to learn, he was almost notorious.
And now the crisis was past and Mr.Manners was launched.
Monsignor glanced almost happily round the tall dining-room, from which the servants had already disappeared, and, with his glass in his hand, settled himself down to listen and remember.
* * * * * "The crisis, to my mind, in the religious situation," began the statesman, looking more professional than ever, with his closed eyes, thin, wrinkled face, and high forehead--"the real crisis is to be sought in the period from 1900 to 1920.
"This was the period, you remember, of tremendous social agitation.