'He was--Mr. Dering. There was just the least little change in him. He wore his coat open instead of buttoned. He had no gloves, his hat was not pulled over his eyes, and his face was somehow lighter and brighter than usual.' 'That is so,' said Athelstan. 'Exactly with these little changes he presented himself to me.' 'Perhaps there is another man in the world exactly like him.' 'Futile remark!--Go on, Elsie.' 'Then I guessed in a moment what it meant. I stepped forward and asked him if he was Mr. Edmund Gray. And then I followed him into his rooms.--George, there is no manner of doubt whatever. Mr. Dering has periods, whether regular or not I cannot tell, when he loses himself and becomes in imagination another man. He is mad, if you like, but there is method in his madness. The other man is just himself turned inside out. Mr. Dering believes in the possible wickedness of everybody: the other man believes in the actual goodness of every man. Mr. Dering considers Property the only stable foundation of Society: the other man considers Property the root of all evil. Mr. Dering is hard and jealous: the other man is full of geniality and benevolence. Mr. Dering is Justice: the other man is Mercy.' 'Very neatly put, Elsie. There is quite an eighteenth-century balance about your sentences and sentiments. So far'--Athelstan contributed his confirmation--'so far as I could judge, nothing could be more true. I found my man the exact opposite of himself.' 'Can such a thing be possible? If I were to speak to him, would he not know me?' 'You forget, George. You have seen him in that condition, and he did not know you.'