ling
happened to mention the modern craze for discussing intimately, or, as a
Frenchwoman whom he knew expressed it, "_avec un luxe de detail_,"
matters of health.

"Yes, yes," responded Mr. Harding. "It is becoming almost objectionable,
almost indecent. At the same time the health of the body is a very
interesting subject because of its effect upon the mind, even, so it
seems sometimes, upon the very nature of a man. Now I--" he struck the
ash off the end of his cigar--"was, I might almost say, the victim of my
stomach in the pulpit this morning."

"You were feeling ill?"

"Not exactly ill. I have a strong constitution. But I suffer at times
from what the doctors call nervous dyspepsia. It is a very tiresome
complaint, because it takes away for the time a man's confidence in
himself, reduces him to the worm-level almost; and it gives him absurd
ideas. Now this morning in the pulpit I had an attack of pain and
uneasiness, and my nerve quite gave out. You must have noticed it."

"I saw that you were troubled by something."

"Something! It was that. My poor wife was thoroughly upset by it. You
know how sensitive women are. To hold a crowd of people a man must be
strong and well, in full possession of his powers. And I had a good
subject."

"Splendid."

"I'll treat it again--treat it again."

The rector shifted in his chair.

"Do you think," he said after a pause, "that it is possible for another,
an outsider, to know a man better than he knows himself?"

"In some cases, yes," answered Malling.

"But--as a rule?"

"There is the saying that outsiders see most of the game."

"Then why should we mind when all are subject to criticism!" exclaimed
Mr. Harding, forcibly.

Evidently he was startled by his own outburst, for instantly he set about
to attenuate it.

"What I mean is that men ought not to care so much as most of them
undoubtedly do what others think about them."

"It certainly is a sign of great weakness to care too much," said
Malling. "But some people have a quite peculiar power of impressing their
critical thoughts on others. These spread uneasiness around them like an
atmosphere."

"I know, I know," said the rector, with an almost hungry eagerness. "Now
surely one ought to keep out of such an atmosphere, to get out of it, and
to keep out of it."

"Why not?"

"But--but--how extraordinary it is, the difficulty men have in getting
away from things! Haven't you noticed that?"

"Want of mor