"And you, Mr. Francis. You were brought up in all this. Does it ever
come back to you?"
He smiled.
"Never," he said, "except as a dream."
"How do you account for that, then? If it is all self-suggestion, you have had thirty years of it."
She paused; and for a moment he hesitated what to answer.
"How would your old fellow-Catholics account for it?"
"They would say that I had forfeited light—that Faith was withdrawn."
"And you?"
Again he paused.
"I should say that I had made a stronger self-suggestion the other way."
"I see.... Good-night, Mr. Francis."
She would not let him come down the lift with her, so when he had seen the smooth box drop noiselessly below the level, he went back again to his model of the Abbey and the little dummy figures. But, before he began to move these about again, he sat for a moment or two with pursed lips, staring.
