"Mr Hilyer, I protest. I _know_. Not anything you can say will alter my opinion one jot. Don't try. I never suspected you were nearly such an interesting man." "But this suspicion is unendurable!" "We will help him together, Mr Hilyer. You may rely upon me. It is most romantic." She beamed benevolence. "But, Lady Hammergallow, I _must_ speak!" She gripped her ear-trumpet resolutely, and held it before her and shook her head. "He has quite a genius for music, Vicar, so I hear?" "I can assure you most solemnly--" "I thought so. And being a cripple--" "You are under a most cruel--" "I thought that if his gift is really what that Jehoram woman says." "An unjustifiable suspicion that ever a man--" ("I don't think much of her judgment, of course.") "Consider my position. Have I gained _no_ character?" "It might be possible to do something for him as a performer." "Have I--(_Bother! It's no good!_)" "And so, dear Vicar, I propose to give him an opportunity of showing us what he can do. I have been thinking it all over as I drove here. On Tuesday next, I will invite just a few people of taste, and he shall bring his violin. Eigh? And if that goes well, I will see if I can get some introductions and really _push_ him." "But _Lady_, Lady Hammergallow." "Not another word!" said Lady Hammergallow, still resolutely holding her speaking trumpet before her and clutching her eyeglasses. "I really must not leave those horses. Cutler is so annoyed if I keep them too long. He finds waiting tedious, poor man, unless there is a public-house near." She made for the door. "_Damn!_" said the Vicar, under his breath. He had never used the word since he had taken orders. It shows you how an Angel's visit may disorganize a man. He stood under the verandah watching the carriage drive away. The world seemed coming to pieces about him. Had he lived a virtuous celibate life for thirty odd years in vain? The things of which these people thought him capable! He stood and stared at the green cornfield opposite, and down at the straggling village. It seemed real enough. And yet for the first time in his life there was a queer doubt of its reality. He rubbed his chin, then turned and went slowly upstairs to his dressing-room, and sat for a long time staring at a garment of some yellow texture. "Know his father!" he said. "And he is immortal, and was fluttering about his heaven when my ancestors were marsupials.... I wish he was there now." He got up and began to feel the robe. "I wonder how they get such things," said the Vicar. Then he went and stared out of the window. "I suppose everything is wonderful, even the rising and setting of the sun. I suppose there is no adamantine ground for any belief. But one gets into a regular way of taking things. This disturbs it. I seem to be waking up to the Invisible. It is the strangest of uncertainties. I have not felt so stirred and unsettled since my adolescence."