In his new eagerness, Paul sprang a mine on his father. He went up to town to meet Strether who had taken a couple of tickets for a matinée of _Peter Pan_, with which play his friend's curious personality was violently intrigued. The artist in Paul revelled in the fairy tale, and deep called to deep before the boy who would not grow up. But his passionate creed would not let him alone. "It's all very well, Gus Strether," he said, arm in arm in Regent Street, "but do you think a girl ought to dress up like that in boy's clothes? And what good does it do? It's like sitting down to play a round game while the house is on fire!" Strether grunted. He was between the devil and the deep sea. He loved Peter Pan with a deep love that was all the fonder for being buried so deep in his queer hidden self, but he hated Pauline Chase--at least on the picture postcards. That, then, he passed over. But the other he would not pass. "You row, and eat chocolate biscuits in my rooms while the house is on fire," he retorted. "Only while waiting to get to work," persisted Paul. "Might be at a prayer meeting," growled the other. Paul assented sadly. "I admit that's logical," he said. Strether lengthened his ungainly stride. "Balderdash," he muttered. "If you tried to live at prayer meetings, you'd soon cease to live at all. Go and see Peter Pan while you're waiting to get to work." "It's a bad example. People wouldn't understand. But it's awfully jolly." "Thought you'd got a bloomin' text up in your rooms to make 'em understand." Paul stopped in the middle of Regent Street. "I've got it," he cried excitedly. "I'll put a cross up as well--a big, plain, empty cross over my writing-table." "Thought that was Popish." "I don't care if it's Popish or not. It's a symbol of Christ. The shadow of it ought to lie everywhere and touch everything. Come on, let's go and get one now. Mowbray's have them. Come on. There's time before tea." The odd pair explored the premises of the Margaret Street shop. Secretly, Paul was moved by the beauty of the crucifixes, though his soul was stirred by a host of Madonnas which should have been painted, he said, quoting a Protestant tract, as if the Virgin were a woman of fifty, and were not. Strether lurched around, grunting to himself. He was curious over most things. Paul bought a big plain cross for his rooms, and, on second thoughts, a small silver one for his watchchain. "Thought you ought to give all your money to the Chinese," said Strether. Paul laughed. "Old ass," he said; "this is missionary work." Miss Bishop happened to be at his home as he unrolled his parcel. She was caustic and cynical. "My experience is that if you wear the cross on your watch-chain, you soon cease to bear it in your heart," she said.