“Ordinary people, like me, associate mathematics with measurement and figures and angles.”

“Yes,” said Claudius, “but it is the same as though you confused religion with its practical results.  If the religion is true at all, it would be just as true if man did not exist, and if it consequently had no application to life.”

“I understand the truth of that, though we might differ about the word.  So you have been dreaming for years—­and what were your dreams like?” The Countess looked down earnestly at Claudius, who in his turn looked at her with a little smile.  She thought he was different from other men, and he was wondering how much of his dreams he might tell her.

“Of all sorts,” he answered, still looking up into her face.  “Bitter and sweet.  I have dreamed of the glory of life and of mind-power, of the accomplishment of the greatest good to the greatest number; I have believed the extension of science possible ’beyond the bounds of all imaginable experience’ into the realms of the occult and hidden; I have wandered with Hermes by the banks of the Nile, with Gautama along the mud-flats of the Ganges.  I have disgusted myself with the writings of those who would reduce all history and religion to solar myths, and I have striven to fathom the meaning of those whose thoughts are profound and their hearts noble, but their speech halting.  I have dreamed many things, Countess, and the worst is that I have lived to weary of my dreams, and to say that all things are vanity—­all save one,” he added with hesitation.  There was a momentary pause.

“Of course,” Mr. Barker was saying to Miss Skeat, with a fascinating smile, “I have the greatest admiration for Scotch heroism.  John Grahame of Claver-house.  Who can read Macaulay’s account—­”

“Ah,” interrupted the old gentlewoman, “if you knew how I feel about these odious calumnies!”

“I quite understand that,” said Barker sympathetically.  He had discovered Miss Skeat’s especial enthusiasm.

Margaret turned again to the Doctor.

“And may I ask, without indiscretion, what the one dream may be that you have refused to relegate among the vanities?”

“Woman,” answered Claudius, and was silent.

The Countess thought the Doctor spoke ironically, and she laughed aloud, half amused and half annoyed.  “I am in earnest,” said Claudius, plucking a blade of grass and twisting it round his finger.

“Truly?” asked she.

“Foi de gentilhomme!” he answered.

“But Mr. Barker told me you lived like a hermit.”

“That is the reason it has been a dream,” said he.

“You have not told me what the dream was like.  What beautiful things have you fancied about us?”