e I should like to see again. I have known
people--characters--natures--that I can't believe are wasted. And those
that were dear to us and that we have lost--"

She stopped, and the first speaker now looked at her with a compassion
unalloyed by patronage, and did not ask, as he might, "What has all that
to do with it?"

In fact, a sympathetic silence possessed the whole company. It was
broken at last by the closest listener's saying: "After all, I don't
know that Metchnikoff's book is so very blighting. It's certainly a very
important book, and it produces a reaction which may be wholesome or
unwholesome as you choose to think. And no matter what we believe, we
must respect the honesty of the scientific attitude in regard to a
matter that has been too much abandoned to the emotions, perhaps. In all
seriousness I wish some scientific man would apply the scientific method
to finding out the soul, as you"--he turned to the light
skirmisher--"suggest. Why shouldn't it be investigated?"

Upon this invitation the light skirmisher tried to imagine some
psychological experiments which should bear a certain analogy to those
of the physicists, but he failed to keep the level of his suggestion.

"As I said," the closest listener remarked, "he produces a secondary
state of revolt which is desirable, for in that state we begin to
inquire not only where we stand, but where _he_ stands."

"And what is your conclusion as to his place in the inquiry?"

"That it isn't different from yours or mine, really. We all share the
illusion of the race from the beginning that somehow our opinion of the
matter affects its reality. I should distinguish so far as to say that
we think we believe, and he thinks he knows. For my own part, I have the
impression that he has helped my belief."

The light skirmisher made a desperate effort to retrieve himself: "Then
a few more books like his would restore the age of faith."

XXI

AROUND A RAINY-DAY FIRE

A number of the Easy Chair's friends were sitting round the fire in the
library of a country-house. The room was large and full of a soft,
flattering light. The fire was freshly kindled, and flashed and crackled
with a young vivacity, letting its rays frolic over the serried bindings
on the shelves, the glazed pictures on the walls, the cups of
after-luncheon coffee in the hands of the people, and the tall jugs and
pots in the tray left standing on the library table. It was summer, but