“I don’t see that because a case brings one suddenly right up against the frontier of metaphysics, why a doctor should necessarily pull up short at that, why one shouldn’t go on into either metaphysics or psychology if such an extension is necessary for the understanding of the case.  At any rate if you’ll permit it in this consultation....”

“Go on,” said the bishop, holding on to that promise of comfort.  “The best thing is to thrash out the case in your own way.  And then come to what is practical.”

“What is really the matter here—­the matter with you that is—­is a disorganization of your tests of reality.  It’s one of a group of states hitherto confused.  Neurasthenia, that comprehensive phrase—­well, it is one of the neurasthenias.  Here, I confess, I begin to talk of work I am doing, work still to be published, finished first and then published....  But I go off from the idea that every living being lives in a state not differing essentially from a state of hallucination concerning the things about it.  Truth, essential truth, is hidden.  Always.  Of course there must be a measure of truth in our working illusions, a working measure of truth, or the creature would smash itself up and end itself, but beyond that discretion of the fire and the pitfall lies a wide margin of error about which we may be deceived for years.  So long as it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter.  I don’t know if I make myself clear.”

“I follow you,” said the bishop a little wearily, “I follow you.  Phenomena and noumena and so on and so on.  Kant and so forth.  Pragmatism.  Yes.”

With a sigh.

“And all that,” completed Dr. Dale in a voice that suggested mockery.  “But you see we grow into a way of life, we settle down among habits and conventions, we say ‘This is all right’ and ‘That is always so.’  We get more and more settled into our life as a whole and more and more confident.  Unless something happens to shake us out of our sphere of illusion.  That may be some violent contradictory fact, some accident, or it may be some subtle change in one’s health and nerves that makes us feel doubtful.  Or a change of habits.  Or, as I believe, some subtle quickening of the critical faculty.  Then suddenly comes the feeling as though we were lost in a strange world, as though we had never really seen the world before.”

He paused.

The bishop was reluctantly interested.  “That does describe something—­of the mental side,” he admitted.  “I never believe in concealing my own thoughts from an intelligent patient,” said Dr. Dale, with a quiet offensiveness.  “That sort of thing belongs to the dark ages of the ’pothecary’s art.  I will tell you exactly my guesses and suppositions about you.  At the base of it all is a slight and subtle kidney trouble, due I suggest to your going to Princhester and drinking the local water—­”

“But it’s excellent water.  They boast of it.”