How could you, the Saint of Victoria Street ?" "I begin to hate that nickname." And he frowned slowly.

Tall, fair, curiously innocent-looking, his face was the face of a blonde ascetic.

His blue eyes were certainly not cold, but nobody could imagine that they would ever gleam with passion or with desire as they looked upon sin.

His mouth seemed made for prayer, not for kisses; and so women often longed to kiss it.

Over him, indeed, intellectuality hung like a light veil, setting him apart from the uproar which the world raises while it breaks the ten commandments.