"You saw the sunrise."
Laughter.
"You tried to get away from the fogs that are stifling us all—away past books and houses to the truth. You were looking for a real home."
"I fail to see the connection," said Leonard, hot with stupid anger.
"So do I." There was a pause. "You were that last Sunday—you are this today. Mr. Bast! I and my sister have talked you over. We wanted to help you; we also supposed you might help us. We did not have you here out of charity—which bores us—but because we hoped there would be a connection between last Sunday and other days. What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives? They have never entered into mine, but into yours, we thought— Haven't we all to struggle against life's daily greyness, against pettiness, against mechanical cheerfulness, against suspicion? I struggle by remembering my friends; others I have known by remembering some place—some beloved place or tree—we thought you one of these."
"Of course, if there's been any misunderstanding," mumbled Leonard, "all I can do is to go. But I beg to state—" He paused. Ahab and Jezebel danced at his boots and made him look ridiculous. "You were picking my brain for official information—I can prove it—I—" He blew his nose and left them.
"Can I help you now?" said Mr. Wilcox, turning to Margaret. "May I have one quiet word with him in the hall?"
"Helen, go after him—do anything—anything—to make the noodle understand."
Helen hesitated.
"But really—" said their visitor. "Ought she to?"
At once she went.
He resumed. "I would have chimed in, but I felt that you could polish him off for yourselves—I didn't
