Lady Ellington gave no direct promise; indeed from the Hermit's point of view her next speech was far from reassuring.
"It is too wonderful," she said, "and now I can say that I have seen it myself. But do you think, Mr. Merivale, that you have any right to shut up yourself and your powers like that when there are so many of us anxious to learn? Could you not--ah, well, it is the end of the season now, but perhaps later in the autumn when people come to London again, could you not give us a little class, just once a week, and tell us about the new philosophy? I'm sure I know a dozen people who would love to come. Of course we would come down here"--this was a great concession--"not expect you to come up to London. You would charge, of course; you might make quite a good thing out of it."
Merivale tried to put in a word, but she swept on.
"Of course that is a minor point," she said, "but what is, I think, really important, is that one should always try to help others who want to learn. There is quite a movement going on in London; people deep-breathe and don't touch meat; the Duchess of Essex, for instance--perhaps you know her----"
"I am so sorry," he said, "but it is absolutely out of the question. To begin with, I have nothing to tell you."
"Ah, but that thrush now," said she. "How did you do it? That is all I want to know."
"But that is exactly what I can't tell you," he said, "any more than you can tell me how it is that when you want to speak your tongue frames words. I ask it to come and sit on my finger--hardly even that. I know no more how I get it to come than it knows, the dear, why it comes."
"And what else can you do?" continued Lady Ellington, abandoning for the present the idea of a class.
Merivale got up without the least sign of impatience or ruffling of his good-humour.
"I can show you over the house," he said, "or walk with you in the forest, as you are so kind as to take an interest in what I do and how I live, and, if you like, I will talk about the simple life and what we may call the approach to Nature. But I must warn you there is nothing in the least startling or sensational about it. Above all, as far as I know, it is not possible to make short cuts; one has to tune oneself slowly to it."