The fact remained that he and Ferlie, and Ferlie's son by the rival he had every reason to consider better dead, had entered into a kingdom so glad with light and deep with peace; its ways so rich with psychological exploration; its gates so strengthened with spiritual discipline, that they became nearly oblivious to the world of non-mystics, who would neither have understood these strangers in their midst, nor have desired to understand.
And the eye of the materialist is critical and his tongue, unsheathed, a two-edged sword.
* * * * * *
The first intimation either of them had that other mortal inhabitants of the earth were interested in them, as fellow-pilgrims to the goal of pensioned and idle security, occurred after a period of nearly six months, when Sterne's good-looking little widowed sister might reasonably be expected to have started advertising her weeds in the exchange and barter column of the Pioneer.
"Weeds? My dear fellow, she's never worn 'em. Flits about 'clothed in white'—what-do-you-call-it 'mystic, wonderful,' and flaunts a promising scarlet head."
"Scarlet, did you say? You're colour-blind. I've only seen her from the road, myself, but she'd rank as a 'Beaut' with that hair if she had a face like a mince-pie."
"Fancy old Diogenes possessing a sister like that! I was with him at G. and he never mentioned her."
"Must be a 'half.' She's twenty years younger at least. What's the name?"
"She's a Mrs. Clifford."
This conversation took place in a long low building, flanked by a hard tennis court and dignified by the title, "Club." The speakers were congregated at a kind of counter commonly known as the "Bar." Cyprian did not frequent it and Ferlie was still postponing her public appearance.