my own mind and heart that he was he than I have in my mind
that I--am I. We do in some mysterious way, you'll own at once, grow so
accustomed, so inured, if you like, to each other's faces (masks
though they be) that we hardly realise we see them when we are speaking
together. And yet the slightest, the most infinitesimal change is
instantly apparent.'

'Oh yes, Vicar; but you see--'

Mr Bethany raised a small lean hand: 'One moment, please. I have heard
Lawford's own account. Conscious or unconscious, he has been through
some terrific strain, some such awful conflict with the unseen powers
that we--thank God!--have only read about, and never perhaps, until
death is upon us, shall witness for ourselves. What more likely, more
inevitable than that such a thing should leave its scar, its cloud, its
masking shadow?--call it what you will. A smile can turn a face we dread
into a face we'd die for. Some experience, which would be nothing but
a hideous cruelty and outrage to ask too closely about--one, perhaps,
which he could, even if he would, poor fellow, give no account of--has
put him temporarily at the world's mercy. They made him a nine days'
wonder, a byword. And that, my dear Danton, is just where we come in.
We know the man himself; and it is to be our privilege to act as a
buffer-state, to be intermediaries between him and the rest of this
deadly, craving, sheepish world--for the time being; oh yes, just for
the time being. Other and keener and more knowledgeable minds than mine
or yours will some day bring him back to us again. We don't attempt to
explain; we can't. We simply believe.'

But Danton merely continued to stare, as if into the quiet of an
aquarium.

'My dear good Danton,' persisted Mr Bethany with cherubic patience, 'how
old are you?'

'I don't see quite...' smiled Danton with recovered ease, and
rapidly mobilising forces. 'Excuse the confidence, Mrs Lawford, I'm
forty-three.'

'Good,' said Mr Bethany; 'and I'm seventy-one, and this child here'--he
pointed an accusing finger at Sheila--is youth perpetual. So,' he
briskly brightened, 'say, between us we're six score all told. Are
we--can we, deliberately, with this mere pinch of years at our command
out of the wheeling millions that have gone--can we say, "This is
impossible," to any single phenomenon? CAN we?'

'No, we can't, of course,' said Danton formidably. 'Not finally. That's
all very well, but'--he paused, and nodded, nodding his round