“Yet there’s no doubt that some amulets have influence,” remarked St Aubyn.  “If a piece of amber, for example, has been highly magnetised by a ‘sensitive,’ as very psychic persons are called, it is quite possible that, worn next the skin, a certain amount of magnetic fluid may be transmitted to the wearer, producing a distinct effect upon his vitality.  There’s nothing occult about that.  The most thoroughgoing materialist might acknowledge it.  But when it comes to spells, and all that gibberish, there, of course, I part company.  The magical power of certain precious stones may be a fact of nature, but I see no proof of its truth, and therefore I don’t believe in it.”

“And now may we go and look at the flowers?” suggested Austin.

“Come along,” returned St Aubyn.  “What a boy you are for flowers!  Do you know much of botany?”

“No—­yes, a little—­but not nearly as much as I ought,” said Austin, as they strolled through the blaze of colour.  “I love flowers for their beauty and suggestiveness, irrespective of the classifications to which they may happen to belong.  A garden is to me the most beautiful thing in the world.  There’s something sacred about it.  Everything that’s beautiful is good, and if it isn’t beautiful it can’t be good, and when one realises beauty one is happy.  That’s why I feel so much happier in gardens than in church.”

“Why, aren’t you fond of church?” asked St Aubyn, amused.

“A garden makes me happier,” said Austin.  “Religion seems to encourage pain, and ugliness, and mourning.  I don’t know why it should, but nearly all the very religious people I know are solemn and melancholy, as though they hadn’t wits enough to be anything else.  They only understand what is uncomfortable, just as beasts of burden only understand threats and beatings.  I suppose it’s a question of culture.  Now I learn more of what I call religion from fields, and trees, and flowers than from anything else.  I don’t believe that if the world had consisted of nothing but cities any real religion would ever have been evolved at all.”

“Crude, my dear Austin, very crude!” remarked St Aubyn, patting his shoulder as they walked.  “There’s more in religion than that, a great deal.  Beware of generalising too widely, and don’t forget the personal equation.  Now, come and have a look at the orchids.  I’ve got one or two rather fine ones that you haven’t seen.”

He led the way towards the orchid-houses.  Here they spent a delightful quarter of an hour, and it was only the thought of his visit to the Banqueting Hall that reconciled Austin to tearing himself away.  St Aubyn seemed much diverted at his insistence, and asked him whether he expected to find the figures on the tapestry endowed with life and disporting themselves about the room for his entertainment.

“I wish they would!” laughed Austin.  “What fun it would be.  I’m sure they’d enjoy it too.  How old is the tapestry, by the way?”