of the minister, and it was the minister who first broke that silence.
"You 've heard singing!" he said abruptly, and as he said it he still stared in front of him as at some distant point beyond this world, and steered himself by his great nose. He did not look at his companion, and he repeated in tones of subdued wonder, "You heard singing. I read it in the Ormeston paper to-day."
Professor Higginson had never in his life been rude to a man at the first meeting. He did not know how it was done.
"Yes," he said … "after a fashion.
"Ah!" said the Reverend Charles, and they went on another fifty yards in silence through the rain. The streets were quite deserted.
Professor Higginson was appalled to find his companion's hand laid firmly upon his shoulder; the other hand held the umbrella above. The parson looked immensely into his eyes.
"I wish I were you," he said, "or, rather, I don't wish I were you." Then he loosed hold, and they walked on together again.
Professor Higginson was profoundly uncomfortable. He was Professor of Subliminal
