There occurred then a revelation.... That is perhaps a portentous word,
but what else can one call it? It is a platitude, of course, to say that
there is probably no one alive who does not remember some occasion of a
sudden communion with another human being that was so beautiful, so
touching, so transcendentally above human affairs that a revelation was
the only definition for it. Afterwards, when analysis plays its part, one
may talk about physical attractions, about common intellectual interests,
about spiritual bonds, about what you please, but one knows that the
essence of that meeting is undefined.

It may be quite enough to say about Morris and Mrs. Brandon, that they
were both very lonely people. You may say, too, that there was in both of
them an utterly unsatisfied longing to have some one to protect and care
for. Not her husband nor Falk nor Joan needed Mrs. Brandon in the least--
and the Archdeacon did not approve of dogs in the house. Or you may say,
if you like, that these two liked the look of one another, and leave it at
that. Still the revelation remains--and all the tragedy and unhappiness
and bitterness that that revelation involved remains too....

This was, of course, not the first time that they had met. Once before at
Mrs. Combermere's they had been introduced and talked together for a
moment; but on that occasion there had been no revelation.

They did not say very much now. Mrs. Brandon asked Morris whether he liked
Polchester and he said yes. They talked about the Cathedral and the coming
Jubilee. Morris said that he had met Falk. Mrs. Brandon, colouring a
little, asked was he not handsome? She said that he was a remarkable boy,
very independent, that was why he had not got on very well at Oxford....
He was a tremendous comfort to her, she said. When he went away...but