"He said I was a chameleon."
"A chameleon!"
"A chameleon that needed the influence of a good woman. Then he gave me this box of Cuban chocolates, to keep me from crying, I suppose. Have one! They're not nearly as nasty as they look."
"Thanks. A chameleon. That is really interesting, as Keith would say. I have seen thousands of them. Outlandish beasts, that anchor themselves by their tails and squint horribly. Let's have a look at you, Denis. No, I fail to detect any striking resemblance."
"I believe he meant that I take on the colour of other people and have none of my own. Then he told me to go and murder somebody."
"I wouldn't do that, Denis," laughed the bishop. "Murders are so dreadfully vulgar."
"He said it might make a man of me. He forgets that I'm not quite his age."
"You had better not tell him that! Any other advice?"
"Nothing new. He said I made a mistake in paying attention to what human beings said and did, and that I ought to forsake mankind for a while, and art and books and so on. You know the way he talks! He said it would give me a stronger individuality if I came into contact with nature and thought things out for myself instead of listening to other people. He advised me to sit among the rocks at midnight and in the hot afternoons, conversing with the genii of earth and air. It would correct my worldly perspective. I think he may be right, in a way. There is something in it. So I asked him to climb into the hills with me, then and there, in order to get into touch with elemental Powers. He said he thought highly of my character, but as to climbing about in this heat—he said he'd be damned if he would. Those were his very words. He wanted to sleep. He was too old for that sort of thing."
"Very sensible, I'm sure."