“I suppose so. I think so, only they’re crystallizing into practices. As we grow older the brain grows stiff, and we’re not so ready to go climbing mountains to achieve impossible heights.” “You’ve climbed pretty high. A step higher to-day—A.R.A. Fame, success and money, that’s a fairly high mountain to have climbed—at least it looks so to me.” The forlorn tone of her voice confirmed the impression his first sight of her had made upon him. He looked at her keenly as she sat there with her eyes fixed upon her tea which she was stirring slowly. She had become a very lovely woman and a poor curate’s wife. “Lonely?” he asked almost unintentionally. “Did I say lonely?” she asked looking quickly at him. “We were talking in metaphors. I suppose that way of talking was invented by some one who didn’t want to blurt out ugly truths.” “Or who fancied that commonplace ideas become uncommon when divorced from commonplace words.” “It’s strange, isn’t it, sitting here, chatting like old friends—after all this time? You didn’t answer my question: have you ever been in Kennington?” “I go down to the Oval now and then to watch the cricket; that’s all I know about Kennington.” “And that’s nothing. You might as well judge West Kensington by an Earl’s Court exhibition, or a woman’s nature by her face. I think it would do you good to see more of Kennington. I can believe that to anyone who has lived there any other place on earth would seem heaven.” “Heaven?” “Even the other place would be an improvement.” “You’re rather hard on Kennington, aren’t you?” “It’s very hard on _me_! It stifles me. I come up to town—you see, I speak of coming up to town—every now and then, just to escape from the horrible atmosphere. There; just to breathe freely for a bit, to look at the shops, to see faces with some thoughts in them, to escape from—Kennington.” “And do you escape?” “Not altogether. The atmosphere there is saturating.” “Does your husband like it?” “He doesn’t know anything about it. Souls to save and bodies to feed, that’s his simple want in life. There are plenty of both in our neighborhood. I suppose you wouldn’t come down to see us?” “If I may——?” “You may,” she answered, laughing softly, almost to herself, and he noticed how her smile lit up her whole face for the moment. “You’ll seem so queer down there.” “Why?” “Just think—but no, you couldn’t realize what I’m laughing at; you’ve never been in Kennington, and—even more likely—have never seen yourself as I see you.” Resisting the temptation to ask her in what light she saw him, he in turn laughed as he looked down into the provocative face turned toward him. “You’re getting better,” he said. “Yes, thanks; the tea has done me good, and the meeting with you.” She spoke quite frankly. “I’m glad,” he answered, “and glad I was lucky enough to meet you.”