'In your tone, Fordham, more even than in your words, there is suggestion. Of what? that I am mad? You have known me all my life. Have I struck you as being of the stuff which makes for madness? As a victim of hysteria? As a subject of hallucinations? As a liar? I am as sane as you, as clear-headed, as matter-of-fact, as truthful. I tell you, in very truth and very deed, that to-night I have seen Christ hard by here in the square.'
'My dear fellow, these people have come here to dine.'
'Is, then, dinner more than Christ?'
Smiling his easy, tolerant smile, Fordham touched Chisholm lightly with his fingers on the arm.
'My very dear old chap, this sort of thing is so awfully unlike you, don't you know?'
'You, also, will be changed when you have seen Christ. Fordham, I have seen Christ!'
The intensity of his utterance seemed to strike his hearers a blow. The women shivered, turning pale--even those who were painted. Mr. Warton leaned across the table towards Mrs. Amplett.
'I really think that you ladies had better retire. Our friend seems to be in a curious mood.'
The hostess nodded. She rose from her seat, looking very queerly at Mr. Chisholm, for whom her penchant is well known. The other women followed her example. The rustling concourse fluttered from the room, the Incumbent of St. Ethelburga holding the door open to let them pass, and himself bringing up the rear. The laymen were left alone together, Chisholm and Fordham standing at the head of the table with, on their faces, such very different expressions.
The host seemed snappish.