"You could say that," says Laurence, in the manner of someone trying not to sound unhappy. I sit down on the barstool next to him and put the box of glasses on the bar for the moment.

"Well," I say. "Having heard that tone a few times in my life, I would say that something has gone wrong, and usually if it sends a man to a bar he is unhappy in love, his work, or his philosophy." I have a feeling that either Laurence is having a crisis of faith, or little Miss O'Hara has up and left him. Not many things give a man quite that look, and I doubt working at the smithy is the cause.