trying to see into the depths. And Harz would stare at them. But the
look in those eyes eluded him, as if they had no more meaning than Mrs.
Decie's, which, with their pale, watchful smile, always seemed saying:
"Come, let us take a little intellectual exercise."

Greta, pulling Scruff's ears, would gaze up at the speakers; when the
talk was over, she always shook herself. But if no one came to the
"sittings," there would sometimes be very earnest, quick talk, sometimes
long silences.

One day Christian said: "What is your religion?"

Harz finished the touch he was putting on the canvas, before he
answered: "Roman Catholic, I suppose; I was baptised in that Church."

"I didn't mean that. Do you believe in a future life?"

"Christian," murmured Greta, who was plaiting blades of grass, "shall
always want to know what people think about a future life; that is so
funny!"

"How can I tell?" said Harz; "I've never really thought of it--never had
the time."

"How can you help thinking?" Christian said: "I have to--it seems to me
so awful that we might come to an end."

She closed her book, and it slipped off her lap. She went on: "There
must be a future life, we're so incomplete. What's the good of your
work, for instance? What's the use of developing if you have to stop?"