"That will be extremely painful to me."
"Painful!… Pain," said the Angel. "I hope not."
The Vicar shook his head. The good report of the village had been the breath of his life so far. "You see," he said, "it would look so much more plausible if you said you were just a man."
"But I'm not," said the Angel.
"No, you're not," said the Vicar. "So that's no good."
"Nobody here, you know, has ever seen an angel, or heard of one—except in church. If you had made your début in the chancel—on Sunday—it might have been different. But that's too late now… (Bother!) Nobody, absolutely nobody, will believe in you."
"I hope I am not inconveniencing you?"
"Not at all," said the Vicar; "not at all. Only——— Naturally it may be inconvenient if you tell a too incredible story. If I might suggest (ahem)———"
"Well?"
"You see, people in the world, being men themselves, will almost certainly regard you as a man. If you say you are not, they will simply say you do not tell the truth. Only exceptional people appreciate the exceptional. When in Rome one must—well, respect Roman prejudices a little—talk Latin. You will find it better———"
"You propose I should feign to become a man?"
"You have my meaning at once."
The Angel stared at the Vicar's hollyhocks and thought.
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