But suddenly through the stillness came a voice:
"I have thought of something."
Everyone turned round. Mr. Stone was seen emerging from behind "The
Shadow"; his frail figure, in its grey tweeds, his silvery hair and
beard, were outlined sharply against the wall.
"Why, Father," Cecilia said, "we didn't know that you were here!"
Mr. Stone looked round bewildered; it seemed as if he, too, had been
ignorant of that fact.
"What is it that you've thought of?"
The firelight leaped suddenly on to Mr. Stone's thin yellow hand.
"Each of us," he said, "has a shadow in those places--in those streets."
There was a vague rustling, as of people not taking a remark too
seriously, and the sound of a closing door.
CHAPTER III
HILARY'S BROWN STUDY
"What do you really think, Uncle Hilary?"
Turning at his writing-table to look at the face of his young niece,
Hilary Dallison answered:
"My dear, we have had the same state of affairs since the beginning of
the world. There is no chemical process; so far as my knowledge goes,
that does not make waste products. What your grandfather calls our
'shadows' are the waste products of the social process. That there is a
submerged tenth is as certain as that there is an emerged fiftieth like
ourselves; exactly who they are and how they come, whether they can ever
be improved away, is, I think, as uncertain as anything can be.
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