"Nonsense. You mustn't talk like that—God's never gone."
Bunning dropped his hands, looked up, his face ridiculous with its tear-stains.
"You think there's a God?"
"I know there's a God."
"Oh!" Bunning sighed.
"But you mustn't take it from me, you know. You must think it out for yourself. Everybody has to."
"Yes—but you matter—more to me than—any one."
"I?"
"Yes." Bunning looked at the floor and began to speak very fast. "You've always seemed to me wonderful—so different from every one else. You always looked—so wonderful. I've always been like that, wanted my hero, and I haven't generally been able to speak to them—my heroes I mean. I never thought, of course, that I should speak to you. And then they sent me that day to you, and you came with me—it was so wonderful—I've thought of nothing else since. I don't think God would matter if you'd only let me come to see you sometimes and talk to you—like this."
"Don't talk that sort of rot. Always glad to see you. Of course you may come in and talk if you wish."