101 He was a delightful teacher. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. “I’m d——d if I understand this,” he said thoughtfully. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered.
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