'Listen, listen to the dear mystic!' exclaimed the old creature
scoffingly. 'What depths we're touching. Here's the first serious
break of his lifetime, and he's gone stark staring transcendental.
Ah well.' He paused and glanced quickly about him, with his
curious bird-like poise of head. 'But you're not alone here?' he
inquired suddenly; 'not absolutely alone?'

'Yes,' said Lawford. 'But there's plenty to think about--and
read. I haven't thought or read for years.'

'No, nor I; after thirty, my dear boy, one merely annotates, and
the book's called Life. Bless me, his solemn old voice is
grinding epigrams out of even this poor old parochial
barrel-organ. You don't suppose, you cannot be supposing you are
the only serious person in the world? What's more, it's only skin
deep.'

Lawford smiled. 'Skin deep. But think quietly over it; you'll see
I'm done.'

'Come here,' said Mr Bethany. 'Where's the whiskey, where's the
cigars? You shall smoke and drink, and I'll watch. If it weren't
for a pitiful old stomach, I'd join you. Come on!' He led the way
into the dining-room.

He looked sparer, more wizened and sinewy than ever as he stooped
to open the sideboard. 'Where on earth do they keep everything?'
he was muttering to himself.