Of farm labourers; no--not of the English at all, but of Russians and Chinese." This train of thought did not satisfy her, and was interrupted by St.John, who began again: "I wish you knew Bennett.

He's the greatest man in the world." "Bennett ?" she enquired.

Becoming more at ease, St.John dropped the concentrated abruptness of his manner, and explained that Bennett was a man who lived in an old windmill six miles out of Cambridge.

He lived the perfect life, according to St.John, very lonely, very simple, caring only for the truth of things, always ready to talk, and extraordinarily modest, though his mind was of the greatest.
"Don't you think," said St.John, when he had done describing him, "that kind of thing makes this kind of thing rather flimsy?
Did you notice at tea how poor old Hewet had to change the conversation?
How they were all ready to pounce upon me because they thought I was going to say something improper?
It wasn't anything, really.

If Bennett had been there he'd have said exactly what he meant to say, or he'd have got up and gone.