"Ha!" said Father Mostyn, with a luminous eye. "I see you realize the danger of them. The sin that comes in handy. That 's it! That we may have strength of grace to turn away from the sin that comes in handy! ... Your tent has been pitched in the wilderness before?"
"Many times."
Father Mostyn made expressive comment with his eyebrows.
"Ha! I thought so. A misanthrope?" he asked, in genial unbelief. "Shunning company for solitude!"
"On the contrary, I find solitude excellent company at times."
"A literary man?"
"No." The Spawer parted pleasantly with the word, unattached to any further token of enlightenment.
"A visitor at large, I suppose!" Father Mostyn substituted, holding the conclusion under his nose with the delicate non-insistence of a collecting plate in church. "Here for rest and quiet."
The Spawer shook his head.
"Again no," he answered. "Rest and quiet are for the wealthy." Then he laughed himself free of further dissimulation. "I will be frank with you," he said. "I am none of these things. I am a poor beggar in the musical line."