-place was desirable, and he found it thus.

It was her one fault in his eyes, this religious mania carried over from
her upbringing, and it did no serious harm. Great emotion could shake it
sometimes out of her. She clung to it because her father taught it her
and not because she had thought it out for herself. Indeed, like many
women, she never really _thought_ at all, but merely reflected the
images of others' thinking which she had learned to see. So, wise in his
knowledge of human nature, old David Bittacy accepted the pain of being
obliged to keep a portion of his inner life shut off from the woman he
deeply loved. He regarded her little biblical phrases as oddities that
still clung to a rather fine, big soul--like horns and little useless
things some animals have not yet lost in the course of evolution while
they have outgrown their use.

"My dear, what is it? You frightened me!" She asked it suddenly, sitting
up so abruptly that her cap dropped sideways almost to her ear. For
David Bittacy behind his crackling paper had uttered a sharp exclamation
of surprise. He had lowered the sheet and was staring at her over the
tops of his gold glasses.

"Listen to this, if you please," he said, a note of eagerness in his
voice, "listen to this, my dear Sophia. It's from an address by Francis
Darwin before the Royal Society. He is president, you know, and son of
the great Darwin. Listen carefully, I beg you. It is _most_ significant."

"I _am_ listening, David," she said with some astonishment, looking up.
She stopped her knitting. For a second she glanced behind her. Something
had suddenly changed in the room, and it made her feel wide awake,
though before she had been almost dozing. Her husband's voice and manner
had introduced this new thing. Her instincts rose in warning. "_Do_
read it, dear." He took a deep breath, looking first again over the rims
of his glasses to make quite sure of her attention. He had evidently
come across something of genuine interest, although herself she often
found the passages from these "Addresses" somewhat heavy.

In a deep, emphatic voice he read aloud:

'"It is impossible to know whether or not plants are conscious; but it
is consistent with the doctrine of continuity that in all living things
there is something psychic, and if we accept this point of view--'"

"_If_," she interrupted, scenting danger.

He ignored the interruption as a thing of slight value he was accustomed
to.