face was that of a dreamer, but about the mouth there was suggestion of
the fighter. Joan felt at her ease with him in spite of the air of
detachment that seemed part of his character. Mrs. Denton had paired
them off together; and, during the lunch, one of them--Joan could not
remember which--had introduced the subject of reincarnation.

Greyson was unable to accept the theory because of the fact that, in old
age, the mind in common with the body is subject to decay.

"Perhaps by the time I am forty--or let us say fifty," he argued, "I
shall be a bright, intelligent being. If I die then, well and good. I
select a likely baby and go straight on. But suppose I hang about till
eighty and die a childish old gentleman with a mind all gone to seed.
What am I going to do then? I shall have to begin all over again:
perhaps worse off than I was before. That's not going to help us much."

Joan explained it to him: that old age might be likened to an illness. A
genius lies upon a bed of sickness and babbles childish nonsense. But
with returning life he regains his power, goes on increasing it. The
mind, the soul, has not decayed. It is the lines of communication that
old age has destroyed.

"But surely you don't believe it?" he demanded.

"Why not?" laughed Joan. "All things are possible. It was the
possession of a hand that transformed monkeys into men. We used to take
things up, you know, and look at them, and wonder and wonder and wonder,
till at last there was born a thought and the world became visible. It
is curiosity that will lead us to the next great discovery. We must take
things up; and think and think and think till one day there will come