“Of course,” he added, “one’s on risky ground, and one isn’t quite sure how far one likes to see such marvellous religious experiences represented on the stage. But the spirit is so utterly reverent that one can’t feel anything but the rightness of the whole thing. It’s a rather glorious triumph of devotional expression.” And that wasn’t a happy topic either, for no one but he and Eddy liked the play at all. The Vicar thought it cheap and tawdry; Traherne thought it sentimental and revolting; Peters thought it silly rot; and Arnold had never thought about it at all, but had just supposed it to be absurd, the sort of play to which one would go, if one went at all, to laugh; like “The Sins of Society,” or “Everywoman,” only rather coarse, too. Hillier said to Eddy, who had seen the play with him, “Didn’t you think it tremendously fine, Oliver?” Eddy said, “Yes, quite. I really did. But Denison wouldn’t like it, you know.” Denison, Hillier supposed, was one of the fools who have said in their hearts, etc. In that case the play in question would probably be an eye-opener for him, and it was a pity he shouldn’t see it. Hillier told him so. “You really ought to see it, Mr. Denison.” Arnold said, “Life, unfortunately, is short.” Hillier, nettled, said, “I’d much rather see ‘The Penitent’ than all your Shaws put together. I’m afraid I can’t pretend to owe any allegiance there.” Arnold, who thought Shaw common, not to say Edwardian, looked unresponsive. Then Traherne began to talk about ground-rents. When Traherne began to talk he as a rule went on. Neither Hillier nor Arnold, who had mutually shocked one another, said much more. Arnold knew a little about rents, ground and other, and if Traherne had been a layman he would have been interested in talking about them. But he couldn’t and wouldn’t talk to clergymen; emphatically, he did not like them. After supper, Eddy took him to his own room to smoke. With his unlit pipe in his hand, Arnold lay back and let out a deep breath of exhaustion. “You were very rude and disagreeable at supper,” said Eddy, striking a match. “It was awkward for me. I must apologise to-morrow for having asked you. I shall say it’s your country manners, though I suppose you would like me to say that you don’t approve of clergymen.... Really, Arnold, I was surprised you should be so very rustic, even if you don’t like them.” Arnold groaned faintly. “Chuck it,” he murmured. “Come out of it before it is too late, before you get sucked in irrevocably. I’ll help you; I’ll tell the vicar for you; yes, I’ll interview them all in turn, even Hillier, if it will make it easier for you. Will it?” “No,” said Eddy. “I’m not going to leave at present. I like being here.” “That,” said Arnold, “is largely why it’s so demoralising for you. Now for _me_ it would be distressing, but innocuous. For you it’s poison.”