Tyson said nothing. He had closed his eyelids. He was following his dream.
Presently he spoke.
"I say, Stanistreet, do you believe in miracles?"
Stanistreet looked down. Only the other day he had seen a miracle and believed. And he himself was a greater miracle than the one he saw. But the experience was not one that he cared to talk about.
"They don't happen here, where people are so damned clever. But I know that they happen—sometimes—over there—in the East—ex oriente lux."
He rose. "Some day I shall go there or thereabouts, and see."
"And leave your wife here?"
"That's it. Do you think I ought to go?"
"I think it doesn't matter in the very least."
"What do you mean?"