She had put her needles down and was staring at her husband; he stared
at Rogers; all three stared at each other. Something each wished to
conceal moved towards utterance and revelation. Yet no one of them
wished to be the first to mention it. A great change had come of late
upon Bourcelles. It no longer seemed isolated from the big world
outside as before; something had linked it up with the whole
surrounding universe, and bigger, deeper currents of life flowed
through it. And with the individual life of each it was the same. All
dreamed the same enormous, splendid dream, yet dared not tell it--yet.
Both parents realised vaguely that it was something their visitor had
brought, but what could it be exactly? It was in his atmosphere, he
himself least of all aware of it; it was in his thought, his attitude
to life, yet he himself so utterly unconscious of it. It brought out
all the best in everybody, made them feel hopeful, brighter, more
courageous. Yes, certainly, _he,_ brought it. He believed in them, in
the best of them--they lived up to it or tried to. Was that it? Was it
belief and vision that he brought into their lives, though
unconsciously, because these qualities lay so strongly in himself?
Belief is constructive. It is what people _are_ rather than what they
preach that affects others.
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