His doubts glowed into assurance.

Suddenly he perceived that he was sure of God.

Not perhaps of the God of Nicaea, but what did these poor little quibblings and definitions of the theologians matter?  He had been worrying about these definitions and quibblings for four long restless years.  Now they were just failures to express—­what surely every one knew—­and no one would ever express exactly.  Because here was God, and the kingdom of God was manifestly at hand.  The visible world hung before him as a mist might hang before the rising sun.  He stood proudly and masterfully facing a universe that had heretofore bullied him into doubt and apologetics, a universe that had hitherto been opaque and was now betrayed translucent.

That was the first effect of the new tonic, complete reassurance, complete courage.  He turned to walk towards Mount Street and Berkeley Square as a sultan might turn to walk among his slaves.

But the tonic was only beginning.

Before he had gone a dozen steps he was aware that he seemed more solid and larger than the people about him.  They had all a curious miniature effect, as though he was looking at them through the wrong end of an opera glass.  The houses on either side of the street and the traffic shared this quality in an equal measure.  It was as if he was looking at the world through apertures in a miniature cinematograph peep-show.  This surprised him and a little dashed his first glow of satisfaction.

He passed a man in khaki who, he fancied, looked at him with an odd expression.  He observed the next passers-by narrowly and suspiciously, a couple of smartish young men, a lady with a poodle, a grocer’s boy with a basket, but none seemed to observe anything remarkable about him.  Then he caught the eye of a taxi-driver and became doubtful again.

He had a feeling that this tonic was still coming in like a tide.  It seemed to be filling him and distending him, in spite of the fact that he was already full.  After four years of flaccidity it was pleasant to be distended again, but already he felt more filled than he had ever been before.  At present nothing was showing, but all his body seemed braced and uplifted.  He must be careful not to become inflated in his bearing.

And yet it was difficult not to betray a little inflation.  He was so filled with assurance that things were right with him and that God was there with him.  After all it was not mere fancy; he was looking through the peepholes of his eyes at the world of illusion and appearance.  The world that was so intent upon its immediate business, so regardless of eternal things, that had so dominated him but a little while ago, was after all a thing more mortal than himself.

Another man in khaki passed him.

For the first time he saw the war as something measurable, as something with a beginning and an end, as something less than the immortal spirit in man.  He had been too much oppressed by it.  He perceived all these people in the street were too much oppressed by it.  He wanted to tell them as much, tell them that all was well with them, bid them be of good cheer.  He wanted to bless them.  He found his arm floating up towards gestures of benediction.  Self-control became increasingly difficult.