was spoken
on that afternoon is utterly worthless.

Challis's failure to comprehend was not, at the outset, due to his
antagonistic attitude. He began with an earnest wish to understand: he
failed only because the thing spoken was beyond the scope of his
intellectual powers. But he did, nevertheless, understand the trend of
that analysis of progress; he did in some half-realised way apprehend
the gist of that terrible deduction of a final adjustment.

He must have apprehended, in part, for he fiercely combated the
argument, only to quaver, at last, into a silence which permitted again
that trickle of hesitating, pedantic speech, which was yet so
overwhelming, so conclusive.

As the afternoon wore on, however, Challis's attitude must have changed;
he must have assumed an armour of mental resistance not unlike the
resistance of Lewes. Challis perceived, however dimly, that life would
hold no further pleasure for him if he accepted that theory of origin,
evolution, and final adjustment; he found in this cosmogony no place for
his own idealism; and he feared to be convinced even by that fraction of
the whole argument which he could understand.

We see that Challis, with all his apparent devotion to science, was
never more than a dilettante. He had another stake in the world which,
at the last analysis, he valued more highly than the acquisition of
knowledge. Those means of ease, of comfort, of liberty, of opportunity
to choose his work among various interests, were the ruling influence of
his life. With it all Challis was an idealist, and unpractical. His
genial charity, his refinement of mind, his unthinking generosity,
indicate the bias of a character which inclined always towards a
picturesque optimism. It is not difficult to understand that he dared
not allow himself to be convinced by Victor Stott's appalling
synthesis.

At last, when the twilight was deepening into night, the voice ceased,
the child's story had been told, and it had not been understood. The
Wonder never again spoke of his theory of life. He realised from that
time that no one could comprehend him.

As he rose to go, he asked one question that, simple as was its
expression, had a deep and wonderful significance.

"Is there none of my kind?" he said. "Is this," and he laid a hand on
the pile of books before him, "is this all?"

"There is none of your kind," replied Challis; and the little figure
born into a world that could not understand him