This one--the fourth--was a man too. About thirty, I should say. And awfully charming. Yes, you spaniel-eyed fish, you, one man is saying this of another man. He was awfully charming. Short, dark. He wore--again it is like holding a negative up to the light--he wore white ducks or flannels. He stood very easily, his weight--listen to me, his _weight_--mainly on one foot and one hand curved against his hip. In the other hand, he carried his pipe. He looked at me--God, how he looked at me! How, for that matter, they all look at me! They want something, Spink. Of me. They're trying to tell me. I can't get it, though. But, believe me, I'm trying. This was worse than the old fellow. For this one, like Lutetia, was dead. And he, like her, was trying to put his message across a world, whereas the old fellow had only to pierce a dimension. How he looked at me; held me; bored into me. It was like sustaining visual vitriol.... How he looked at me! It became horrible.... Pretty soon I realized I wasn't going to be able to stand it.... Yet I stayed with it as long as he did, and of course we continued to glare at each other. I don't exactly know what the etiquette of these meetings is; but I seem to feel vaguely that it's up to me to stay with them as long as they're here. This time, it must have been all of five minutes, although it seemed longer ... much longer ... and I, all the time, trying to hold on. Then suddenly something happened. I don't know what it was, but one instant he was there, and another he wasn't. Don't ask me how he went away. I don't know. He simply ceased to be; and yet so swifter-than-instantly, so exquisitely, so subtly that my only question was--even though my mind was still stinging from his gaze--had he been there at all. It was as though the tree back of him had instantaneously absorbed him. It was a shock too--that disappearance. Well, again I went out for a hike. I walked anywhere--everywhere. How far I don't know. But half the night. Again it was as though I marched through the stars....