"You make me believe it, when you say it," he murmured. "I'm afraid you think me a dreadfully earthy, commonplace person."
Imogen, at the change of note in his voice, looked round at him, more really aware of him than she had been at all, and when she met his glance the prophet's calm fervor rose in her to answer the faith that she felt in him. She paused, letting him come abreast of her in the narrow path, and they both stood still, looking at each other.
"You are not earthy; you are not commonplace," said Imogen, then, as a result of her contemplation. "I believe that you are a very big person, Sir Basil."
"A big person? How do you mean?" He absolutely flushed, half abashed, half delighted.
Imogen continued to gaze, clearly and deeply. "There are all sorts of possibilities in you."
"Oh, come now! At my age! Why, any possibilities are over, except for a cheerful kind of vegetating."
"You have vegetated all your life, I can see that. No one has ever waked you. You have hardly used your soul at all. It's with you as it is with your country, whose life is built strongly and sanely with body and brain but who has not felt nationally, as a whole, its spirit. Like it, you have a spirit; like it, you are full of possibilities."
"Miss Upton, you aren't like anybody I've ever known. What sort of possibilities?"
She walked on now, feeling his thrill echo in herself, symptomatic of the passing forth of power and its return as enrichment of life and inspiration to helpfulness. "Of service," she said. "Of devotion to great needs; courage in great causes. I don't think that you have ever had a chance."
Sir Basil, keeping his eyes on her straight, pale profile, groping and confused in this new flood of light, wondered if he had.