She says the recording angel will have
two sides to my account: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; and
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays—diametrically opposite convictions,
and both kinds wrong. On Sundays I am all things to all men. As for
Sabathier, by the way, I do want particularly to have another go at
him. I’ve been thinking him over, and I’m afraid in some ways he won’t
quite wash. And that reminds me, did you read the poor chap?’

‘I just grubbed through a page or two; but most of my French was left
at school. What I did do, though, was to show the book to an old friend
of ours—my wife’s and mine—just to skim—a Mr Bethany. He’s an old
clergyman—our vicar, in fact.’

Herbert had sat down, and with eyes slightly narrowed was listening
with peculiar attention. He smiled a little magnanimously. ‘His
verdict, I should think, must have been a perfect joy.’

‘He said,’ said Lawford, in his rather low, monotonous voice, ‘he said
it was precious poor stuff, that it reminded him of patchouli; and that
Sabathier—the print I mean—looked like a foxy old roué. They were, I
think, his exact words. We were alone together, last night.’

‘You don’t mean that he simply didn’t see the faintest resemblance?’

Lawford nodded. ‘But then,’ he added simply, ‘whenever he comes to see
me now he leaves his spectacles at home.’

And at that, as if at some preconcerted signal, they both went off into
a simple shout of laughter, unanimous and sustained. But this first wild bout of laughter over, the first real bursting of
the dam, perhaps, for years, Lawford found himself at a lower ebb than
ever. ‘You see,’ he said presently, and while still his companion’s face was
smiling around the remembrance of his laughter like ripples after the
splash of a stone, ‘Bethany has been absolutely my sheet-anchor right
through. And I was—it was—you can’t possibly realise what a ghastly
change it really was. I don’t think any one ever will.’

Herbert opened his hand and looked reflectively into its palm before
allowing himself to reply. ‘I wonder, you know; I have been wondering a
good deal; simply taking the other point of view for a moment; _was_
it? I don’t mean “ghastly” exactly (like, say, smallpox, G.P.I.,
elephantiasis), but was it quite so complete, so radical, as in the
first sheer gust of astonishment you fancied?’

Lawford thought on a little further. ‘You know how one sees oneself in
a passion—why, how a child looks—the whole face darkened and drawn and
possessed? That was the change. That’s how it seems to come back to me. And something, somebody, dodging behind the eyes. Yes; more that than
even any excessive change of feature, except, of course, that I also
seemed—Shall I ever forget that first cold, stifling stare into the
looking-glass! I certainly was much darker, even my hair. But I’ve told
you all this before,’ he added wearily, ‘and the scores and scores of
times I’ve thought it. I used to sit up there in the big spare bedroom
my wife put me up in, simply gloating. My flesh seemed nothing more
than an hallucination: there I was, haunting my body, an old grinning
tenement, and all that I thought I wanted, and couldn’t do without, all
I valued and prided myself on—stacked up in the drizzling street below. Why, Herbert, our bodies _are_ only glass or cloud. They melt, don’t
they, like wax in the sun once we’re out. But those first few days
don’t make very pleasant thinking. Friday night was the first, when I
sat there like a twitching waxwork, soberly debating between Bedlam
here and Bedlam hereafter. I even sometimes wonder whether its very
repetition has not dulled the memory or distorted it. My wife,’ he
added ingenuously, ‘seems to think there are signs of a slight
improvement—a going back, I mean. But I’m not sure whether she meant
it.’

Herbert surveyed his visitor critically. ‘You say “dark,” he said; ‘but
surely, Lawford, your hair now is nearly grey; well-flecked at least.’

Although the remark carried nothing comparatively of a shock with it,
yet it seemed to Lawford as if an electric current had passed over his
scalp, coldly stirring every hair upon his head. But somehow or other
it was easier to sit quietly on, to express no surprise, to let them do
or say what they liked. ‘Well’ he retorted with an odd, crooked smile,
‘you must remember I am a good deal older than I was last Saturday. I
grew grey in the grave, Herbert.’

‘But it’s like this, you know,’ said Herbert, rising excitedly, and at
the next moment, on reflection, composedly reseating himself. ‘How many
of your people actually _saw_ it? How many owned to its being as bad,
as complete, as you made out? I don’t want for a moment to cut right
across what you said last night—our talk—but there are two million
sides to every question, and as often as not the less conspicuous have
sounder—well—roots. That’s all.’

‘I think really, do you know, I would rather not go over the detestable
thing again. Not many; my wife, though, and a man I know called Danton,
who—who’s prejudiced. After all, I have myself to think about too. And
right through, right through—there wasn’t the least doubt of that—they
all in their hearts knew it was me. They knew I was behind. I could
feel that absolutely always; it’s not just eyes and ears we use,
there’s us ourselves to consider, though God alone knows what that
means. But the password was there, as you might say; and they all knew
I knew it, all—except’—he looked up as if in bewilderment—‘except just
one, a poor old lady, a very old friend of my mother’s, whom I—I
Sabathiered!’

‘Whom—you—Sabathiered!’ repeated Herbert carefully, with infinite
relish, looking sidelong at his visitor. ‘And it is just precisely
that....’

But at that moment his sister appeared in the doorway to say that
supper was ready. And it was not until Herbert was actually engaged in
carving a cold chicken that he followed up his advantage. ‘Mr. Lawford,
Grisel,’ he said, ‘has just enriched our jaded language with a new
verb—to Sabathier. And if I may venture to define it in the presence of
the distinguished neologist himself, it means, “To deal with
histrionically”; or, rather, that’s what it will mean a couple of
hundred years hence. For the moment it means, “To act under the
influence of subliminalization; To perplex, or bemuse, or estrange with
_otherness_.” Do tell us, Lawford, more about the little old lady.’ He
passed with her plate a little meaningful glance at his sister, and
repeated, ‘Do!’

‘But I’ve been plaguing your sister enough already. You’ll wish...’
Lawford began, and turned his tired-out eyes towards those others
awaiting them so frankly they seemed in their perfect friendliness a
rest from all his troubles. ‘You see,’ he went on, ‘what I kept on
thinking and thinking of was to get a quite unbiased and unprejudiced
view. She had known me for years, though we had not actually met more
than once or twice since my mother’s death.