“Yes,” said Vincent, “we are!  But isn’t it possible for an intellectual man to feel a real friendship for a quite unintellectual man—­not a desire to discuss everything with him, but a simple admiration for fine frank qualities?”

“Oh yes,” said Father Payne, “there can be all sorts of alliances; but I am not speaking of them.  I am speaking of a sort of mutual understanding.  In friendship, as I understand it, the two must not speak different languages.  They must be able to put their minds fairly together—­there can be a kind of man-and-dog friendship, of course, but that is more a sort of love and trust.  Now in friendship people must be mutually intelligible.  It need not be equality—­it is very often far removed from that; but there must not be any condescension.  There must be a desire for equality, at all events.  Each must lament anything, whether it is superiority or inferiority, which keeps the two apart.  It must be a desire for unity above everything.  There must not be the smallest shadow of contempt on either side—­it must be a frank proffer of the best you have to give, and a knowledge that the other can give you something—­sympathy, support, help—­which you cannot do without.  What breaks friendship, in my experience, is the loss of that sense of equality; and the moment that friends become critical—­in the sense, I mean, that they want to alter or improve each other—­I think a friendship is in danger.  If you have a friend, you must be indulgent to his faults—­like him, not in spite of them, but almost because of them, I think.”

“That’s very difficult,” said Vincent.  “Mayn’t you want a friend to improve?  If he has some patent and obvious fault, I mean?”

“You mustn’t want to improve him,” said Father Payne, smiling; “that’s not your business—­unless he wants you to help him to improve; and even then you have to be very delicate-handed.  It must hurt you to have to wish him different.”

“But isn’t that what you call sentimental?” said Vincent.

“No,” said Father Payne, “it is sentiment to try to pretend to yourself and others that the fault isn’t there.  But I am speaking of a tie which you can’t risk breaking for anything so trivial as a fault.  The moment that the fault stands out, naked and unpleasant, then you may know that the friendship is over.  There must be a glamour even about your friend’s faults.  You must love them, as you love the dints and cracks in an old building.”

“That seems to me weak,” said Vincent.

“You will find that it is true,” said Father Payne.  “We can’t afford to sit in judgment on each other.  We must simply try to help each other along.  We must not say, ‘You ought not to be tired.’”

“But surely we may pity people?” said Lestrange.