friends. What is sentimental is to believe that it can be otherwise."



XIX

OF PHYLLIS


It was in the course of July, the month given to hospitality. Father Payne
used to have guests of various kinds, quite unaccountable people, some of
them, with whom he seemed to be on the easiest of terms, but whom he never
mentioned at any other time. "It is a time when I have _old friends_
to stay with me," he once said, "and I decline to define the term. There
are _reasons_--you must assume that there are _reasons_--which
may not be apparent, for the tie. They are not all selected for
intellectual or artistic brilliance--they are the symbols of undesigned
friendships, which existed before I exercised the faculty of choice. They
are there, uncriticised, unexplained, these friends of mine. The modest
man, you will remember, finds his circle ready-made. I am attached to them,
and they to me. They understand no language, some of them, as you will see,
except the language of the heart; but you will help me, I know, to make
them feel at home and happy."

They certainly were odd people, several of them--dumb, good-natured,
elderly men with no ostensible purpose in the world; elderly ladies, who
called Father Payne "dear"; some simple and homely married couples, who
seemed to be living in another century. But Father Payne welcomed them,
chattered with them, jested with them, took them drives and walks, and
seemed well-contented with their company, though I confess that I generally