"Of the British Museum. I go there every day."

"You do? I've only been there once. I'm afraid I found it rather a
depressing place. It--it seemed to sap one's vitality."

"It does. That's why I go there. The lower one's vitality, the more
sensitive one is to great art. I live near the museum. I have rooms in
Dyott Street."

"And you go round to the reading-room to read Milton?"

"Usually Milton." He looked at me. "It was Milton," he
certificatively added, "who converted me to diabolism."

"Diabolism? Oh, yes? Really?" said I, with that vague discomfort
and that intense desire to be polite which one feels when a man speaks of
his own religion. "You--worship the devil?"

Soames shook his head.

"It's not exactly worship," he qualified, sipping his absinthe. "It's
more a matter of trusting and encouraging."

"I see, yes. I had rather gathered from the preface to 'Negations'
that you were a--a Catholic."

"Je l'etais a cette epoque. In fact, I still am.
I am a Catholic diabolist."

But this profession he made in an almost cursory tone. I could see