She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty. I suppose my creed is, ‘I believe rather indistinctly in God the Father Almighty, substratum of the evolutionary process, and, in a vein of vague sentimentality that doesn’t give a datum for anything at all, in Jesus Christ, His Son.
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