t that first cold, stifling stare into the
looking-glass! I certainly was much darker, even my hair. But I've told
you all this before,' he added wearily, 'and the scores and scores of
times I've thought it. I used to sit up there in the big spare bedroom
my wife put me up in, simply gloating. My flesh seemed nothing more
than an hallucination: there I was, haunting my body, an old grinning
tenement, and all that I thought I wanted, and couldn't do without, all
I valued and prided myself on--stacked up in the drizzling street below.
Why, Herbert, our bodies are only glass or cloud. They melt, don't they,
like wax in the sun once we're out. But those first few days don't make
very pleasant thinking. Friday night was the first, when I sat there
like a twitching waxwork, soberly debating between Bedlam here and
Bedlam hereafter. I even sometimes wonder whether its very repetition
has not dulled the memory or distorted it. My wife,' he added
ingenuously, 'seems to think there are signs of a slight improvement--a
going back, I mean. But I'm not sure whether she meant it.'

Herbert surveyed his visitor critically. 'You say "dark," he said; 'but
surely, Lawford, your hair now is nearly grey; well-flecked at least.'

Although the remark carried nothing comparatively of a shock with it,
yet it seemed to Lawford as if an electric current had passed over his
scalp, coldly stirring every hair upon his head. But somehow or other it
was easier to sit quietly on, to express no surprise, to let them do or
say what they liked. 'Well' he retorted with an odd, crooked smile, 'you
must remember I am a good deal older than I was last Saturday. I grew
grey in the grave, Herbert.'

'But it's like this, you know,' said Herbert, rising excitedly, and at
the next moment, on reflection, composedly reseating himself. 'How many
of your people actually saw it? How many owned to its being as bad, as
complete, as you made out? I don't want for a moment to cut right across
what you said last night--our talk--but there are two million sides
to every question, and as often as not the less conspicuous have
sounder--well--roots. That's all.'

'I think really, do you know, I would rather not go over the detestable
thing again. Not many; my wife, though, and a man I know called Danton,
who--who's prejudiced. After all, I have myself to think about too. And
right through, right through--there wasn't the least doubt of that--they
all in their hearts knew it