He had failed to learn any more about Mr. Prather's precise place in the picture, or the relationship of the other characters who flitted in and out of the convolutions of the impalpable organization which he was trying to unravel — or, for that matter, about Avalon's real place in the whole crooked cosmogony.
Simon forced himself ruthlessly to remember that... With all their intimacy, their swift and complete companionship, he still knew nothing. Nothing but what he felt; and better men than he had come to disaster from not drawing the distinction between belief and knowledge. The Saint had many vanities, but one of them had never been the arrogant confidence that sometime, somewhere, there could not be among the ranks of the Ungodly a man or a woman who would have the ability to make a sucker out of him. He had waited for that all his life; and he was still waiting, with the same cold and tormenting vigilance.
And yet, when he called Avalon the next morning, there was nothing cold in his mind when her voice answered.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning, darling," she said, and her voice woke up with it. "How are you today?"
"Excited."
"What about?"
"Because I've got a date for lunch."
"Oh." The voice died again.
He laughed.