But during the first
conversation in which he deigned to be interested in my views, there
occurred in our friendship a little rift which widened to a chasm.
Vilsing sprang back horrified when he heard how I, greenhorn though I
was, regarded life and men and what I considered right. "You are in the
clutches of Evil, and your desire is towards the Evil. I have not time
or inclination to unfold an entire Christology now, but what you reject
is the Ideal, and what you appraise is the Devil himself. God! God! How
distressed I am for you! I would give my life to save you. But enough
about it for the present; I have not time just now; I have to go out to
dinner."
This was our last serious conversation. I was not saved. He did not give
his life. He went for a vacation tour the following Summer holidays,
avoided me on his return, and soon we saw no more of each other.
IV.
The theory, the intimation of which roused Vilsing to such a degree,
bore in its form witness to such immaturity that it could only have made
an impression on a youth whose immaturity, in spite of his age, was
greater still. To present it with any degree of clearness is scarcely
possible; it was not sufficiently clear in itself for that. But this was
about what it amounted to:
The introspection and energetic self-absorption to which I had given
myself up during my last few years at school became even more persistent
on my release from the restraint of school and my free admission to the
society of grown-up people.
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