“You are altering,” he said, “altering in mind and spirit. Gradually you will alter altogether, so that none of your past acquaintances will know you. But there! I forgot, you have no past acquaintances. It was you, if I remember rightly, who tried to push your own identity upon someone else, someone very much outside your own station, who could only regard you in the light of an impudent beggar fit simply for spurning aside without remark.” He laughed. “Like most ignorant people,” he continued, “you have great conceit and assurance and stubbornness, which you mistake for true determination. And when all these things fail to assist you, you turn sullen and think yourself ill-used.” “This is very interesting,” I retorted. “I am learning facts about myself hitherto unknown. Is it sullenness from which I suffer just at present?” “Undoubtedly. You have found some one more than your match and cannot give in graciously.” But being dull I made no answer, till at last, seeing he made no effort to continue, I asked,— “And who may my match be?” He shook his head. “If I told you it might be such a blow to your conceit that you would scarce recover from it.” I did not reply. He rose. “You are losing your one redeeming quality,” he went on. “You never have an answer ready. When you die we shall raise you a monument and it shall say, ‘Here lies one who died silently after talking loudly,’ and all those who go by will shake their heads and say it was a bad practice. But come, let us be off. I wish you to see the great city; for though you may not know it, I like you better than you think.” “I am flattered;” and not even dulness could keep bitterness away. “Now,” said he, when we were outside, “I propose that instead of taking our journey slowly we take it with the greatest possible speed. There is nothing to see on the way but what one may see every day; that is, of course, if one has the wherewithal to travel. What do you propose?” “I am, as you know, quite at your service. Quickly or slowly, it is all the same to me.” “Well, then, we will go quickly.” With incredible speed we found ourselves within a large cathedral. Gloomy it was, yet grand, and as we arrived we heard the organ for the voluntary was playing. “Why surely,” I cried, gazing about me, “we are back on earth.” He shook his head. “No. It’s a good imitation. Splendid, isn’t it?” “But, pardon me, I recognise this building—” “One very like it, that is all. This is part of Vestasian’s town house, and knowing you were coming he has built people up from stunted souls. He is considerate.” “At the expense of others.” “Oh! we are all that,” Plucritus rejoined. He put his arm through mine. “Come and stand under the shadow of this monument; we can then see without being seen. But perhaps you would like to say a prayer. We will go into the choir stalls, there are stools there and the view is better.” We went to the stalls he mentioned unnoticed.