the faculty of surprise. He was like that kind of fish which lies
at the bottom of the sea and takes every kind of food into its
great maw without distinguishing its flavour. Metaphorically
speaking, heavenly manna and decayed cabbage were just the same
to Bastin. He was not fastidious and both were mental pabulum--of
a sort--together with whatever lay between these extremes. Yet he
was good, so painfully good that one felt that without exertion
to himself he had booked a first-class ticket straight to Heaven;
indeed that his guardian angel had tied it round his neck at
birth lest he should lose it, already numbered and dated like an
identification disc.

I am bound to add that Bastin never went wrong because he never
felt the slightest temptation to do so. This I suppose
constitutes real virtue, since, in view of certain Bible sayings,
the person who is tempted and would like to yield to the
temptation, is equally a sinner with the person who does yield.
To be truly good one should be too good to be tempted, or too
weak to make the effort worth the tempter's while--in short not
deserving of his powder and shot.

I need hardly add that Bastin went into the Church; indeed, he
could not have gone anywhere else; it absorbed him naturally, as
doubtless Heaven will do in due course. Only I think it likely
that until they get to know him he will bore the angels so much
that they will continually move him up higher. Also if they have
any susceptibilities left, probably he will tread upon their
toes--an art in which I never knew his equal. However, I always
loved Bastin, perhaps because no one else did, a fact of which he
remained totally unconscious, or perhaps because of his brutal