"Remember this! You yourself told me that in a crowd of a thousand you must have fixed your attention on me."
For a moment the professor had it in his mind to say that this statement of his had been a lie invented to make an impression on Chichester. But he resisted the temptation to score—and lose. He preferred not to score, and to win, if possible.
"I did," he said.
"Could this be so if I were like other men, other clergymen?"
"Well, then, what is the mighty difference between you and your reverend brethren—between you, let us say, and your rector, Mr. Harding?"
Very casually and jerkily the professor threw out this question.
Not casually did Chichester receive it. He moved almost like a man who had been unexpectedly struck, then seemed to recover himself, and to nerve himself for some ordeal. Leaning forward, and holding the edge of the table with one hand, he said:
"How well do you know Mr. Harding?"
"Pretty well. Not intimately."
"You have seen him since he—altered?"