"I don't know. Why?" "Because I was thinking of it myself." He glanced at me, and I shook my head. "Well," Minver said, "if it will leave Acton out in the cold, I'll own that I was thinking of it, too. I was going back in my mind, for no reason that I know of, to my childhood, when I first heard of such a thing as a presentiment, and when I was afraid of having one. I had the notion that presentiments ran in the family." "Why had you that notion?" Rulledge demanded. "I don't know that I proposed telling," the painter said, giving himself to his pipe. "Perhaps you didn't have it," Rulledge retaliated. "Perhaps," Minver assented. Wanhope turned from the personal aspect of the matter. "It's rather curious that we should all three have had the same thing in mind just now; or, rather, it is not very curious. Such coincidences are really very common. Something must have been said at dinner which suggested it to all of us." "All but Acton," Minver demurred. "I mightn't have heard what was said," I explained. "I suppose the passing of all that sort of sub-beliefs must date from the general lapse of faith in personal immortality." "Yes, no doubt," Wanhope assented. "It is very striking how sudden the lapse was. Everyone who experienced it in himself could date it to a year, if not to a day. The agnosticism of scientific men was of course all the time undermining the fabric of faith, and then it fell in abruptly, reaching one believer after another as fast as the ground was taken wholly or partly from under his feet. I can remember how people once disputed whether there were such beings as guardian spirits or not. That minor question was disposed of when it was decided that there were no spirits at all." "Naturally," Minver said. "And the decay of the presentiment must have been hastened by the failure of so many presentiments to make good." "The great majority of them have failed to make good, from the beginning of time," Wanhope replied. "There are two kinds of presentiments," Rulledge suggested, with a philosophic air. "The true and the untrue." "Like mushrooms," Minver said. "Only, the true presentiment kills, and the true mushroom nourishes. Talking of mushrooms, they have a way in Switzerland of preserving them in walnut oil, and they fill you with the darkest forebodings, after you've filled yourself with the mushrooms. There's some occult relation between the two. Think it out, Rulledge!" Rulledge ignored him in turning to Wanhope. "The trouble is how to distinguish the true from the untrue presentiment." "It would be interesting," Wanhope began, but Minver broke in upon him maliciously.