“Of course, you must not think in that coldblooded way,” said Father Payne, “but it can never be more than a hope of continuance.  You may hope to find a friendship a continuous and far-reaching thing.  It may be quite right to get to know a man, believing him to have fine qualities; but you can’t pledge yourself to admire whatever you find in him.  We have to try experiments in friendship as in everything else.  It is purely sentimental to say, ’I am going to believe in this man blindfold, whatever I find him to be,’ That’s a rash vow!  You must not take rash vows; and if you do, you must be prepared to break them.  Besides, you can’t depend upon your friend not altering.  He may lose some of the very things you most admire.  The mistake is to believe that anything can be consistent or permanent.”

“But if you don’t believe that,” said Lestrange, “are you justified in entering upon intimate relations at all?”

“Of course you are,” said Father Payne; “you can’t live life on prudent lines.  You can’t say, ’I won’t engage in life, or take a hand in it, or believe in it, or love it, till I know more about it.’  You can’t foresee all contingencies and risks.  You must take risks.”

“I expect,” said Barthrop, “that we are meaning different things by friendship.  Let us define our terms.  What do you mean by friendship, Father?”

“Well,” said Father Payne, “I will tell you if I can.  I mean a consciousness, which generally comes rather suddenly, of the charm of a particular person.  You have a sudden curiosity about him.  You want to know what his ideas, motives, views of life are.  It is not by any means always that you think he feels about things as you do yourself.  It is often the difference in him which attracts you.  But you like his manner, his demeanour, his handling of life.  What he says, his looks, his gestures, his personality, affect you in a curious way.  And at the same time you seem to discern a corresponding curiosity in him about yourself.  It is a pleasurable surprise both to discover that he agrees with you, and also that he disagrees with you.  There is a beauty, a mystery, about it all.  Generally you think it rather surprising that he should find you interesting.  You wish to please him and to satisfy his expectations.  That is the dangerous part of friendship, that two people in this condition make efforts, sacrifices, suppressions in order to be liked.  Even if you disagree, you both give hints that you are prepared to be converted.  There is a sudden increase of richness in life, the sense of a moving current whose impulse you feel.  You meet, you talk, you find a freshness of feeling, light cast upon dark things, a new range of ideas vividly present.”

“But isn’t all that rather intellectual?” said Vincent, who had been growing restive.  “The thing can surely be much simpler than that?”

“Yes, of course it can,” said Father Payne, “among simple people—­but we are all complicated people here.”