"I couldn't tell Malling," said Chichester. "His readiness stopped me. It struck me like a blow."
"Malling prides himself on being severely neutral in mind."
"And you on being skeptical?"
"I await facts."
"Shall I give you some strange facts, the strangest perhaps you have ever met with?"
Stepton smiled dryly.
"You'll forgive me, but some such remark has been the prelude to so many figments."
"Figments?"
"Of the imagination."
An expression of anger—almost like a noble anger it seemed—transformed Chichester's face. It was as a fine wrath which looked down from a height, and in an instant it melted into pity.