“Oh, but listen! Don’t interrupt the great man’s solemn words! ‘The present type of order in the world has risen from an unimaginable past, and will find its grave in an unimaginable future. There remains the inexhaustive realm of abstract forms, and creativity with its shifting character ever determined afresh by its own creatures, and God, upon whose wisdom all forms of order depend.’ There, that’s how he winds up!”

Connie sat listening contemptuously.

“He’s spiritually blown out,” she said. “What a lot of stuff! Unimaginables, and types of order in graves, and realms of abstract forms, and creativity with a shifty character, and God mixed up with forms of order! Why it’s idiotic!”

“I must say, it is a little vaguely conglomerate, a mixture of gases, so to speak,” said Clifford. “Still, I think there is something in the idea that the universe is physically wasting and spiritually ascending.”

“Do you? Then let it ascend, so long as it leaves me safely and solidly physically here below.”