e said soothingly, 'do not
be disturbed; do not disquiet yourself.'

Lawford struggled up. Slowly, painfully consciousness returned to him.
He glanced furtively round the room, at his clothes, slinkingly at
the vicar; licked his lips; flushed with extraordinary rapidity; and
suddenly burst into tears.

Mr Bethany sat without movement, waiting till he should have spent
himself. 'Now, Lawford,' he said gently, compose yourself, old friend.
We must face the music--like men.' He went to the window, drew up the
blind, peeped out, and took off his spectacles.

'The first thing to be done,' he said, returning briskly to his chair,
'is to send for Simon. Now, does Simon know you WELL?' Lawford shook his
head. 'Would he recognise you?... I mean...'

'I have only met him once--in the evening.'

'Good; let him come immediately, then. Tell him just the facts. If I am
not mistaken, he will pooh-pooh the whole thing; tell you to keep quiet,
not to worry, and so on. My dear fellow, if we realised, say, typhoid,
who'd dare to face it? That will give us time; to wait a while, to
recover our breath, to see what happens next. And if--as I don't
believe for a moment--Why, in that case I heard the other day of a most
excellent man--Grosser, of Wimpole Street; nerves. He would be absorbed.
He'll bottle you in spirit, Lawford. We'll have him down quietly. You
see? But there won't be any necessity. Oh no. By then light will have
come. We shall remember. What I mean is this.' He crossed his legs
and pushed out his lips. 'We are on quaky ground; and it's absolutely
essential that you keep cool, and trust. I am yours, heart and soul--you
know that. I own frankly, at first I was shaken. And I have, I confess,
been very cunning. But first, faith, then evidence to bolster it up. The
faith was absolute'--he placed one firm hand on Lawford's knee--'why,
I cannot explain; but it was. The evidence is convincing. But there are
others to think of. The shock, the incredibleness, the consequences; we
must not scan too closely. Think WITH; never against: and bang go all
the arguments. Your wife, poor dear, believes; but of course, of course,
she is horribly--' he broke off; 'of course she is SHAKEN, you old
simpleton! Time will heal all that. Time will wear out the mask. Time
will tire out this detestable physical witchcraft. The mind, the self's
the thing. Old fogey though I may seem for saying it--that must be kept
unsmirched. We won't go wearily over