"But still—" I said.
"Still one craves such help. True; and the craving in itself may not be wrong—is not wrong, I should rather say. Though here, too, as with bodily needs, I believe one ought to be content either to 'abound' or to 'suffer need,' as God may appoint for us. Besides," he added, "that which is the greatest help to one, is not always helpful to another. We are differently constituted, and our needs differ. It is a perplexing question sometimes. Our Church Services are meant for the many. I am afraid some among us are, perhaps, a little too much disposed to insist on providing for the many that which only suits the needs of the few."
"And suppose," I said, "that the many insist on having what is no help at all to the few, but only a hindrance?"
"It should not be a hindrance."
"But if it is—"
"It need not be. The question as to a man's spiritual advance does not hinge there. Wine of heaven may be as freely given in a cup of earthenware as in a cup of porcelain, if only one is willing."
I repeated to myself, "If one is willing!"
"The gist of the matter lies there," he said.
The old lady at the other end woke up, looked round, and moved promptly down the seat to our vicinity, putting out a hand and a rubbed kid glove.
"How do you do, Sir Keith—how do you do?" she said, in brisk cordial tones. "Quite well, I hope; and Lady Denham too? Are you going home to her? No? I can't quite hear what you say—the train does make such a noise, and I'm getting just a little deaf."