"The doctor says it's for my spiritual doubtings," he answered. "Myself, I more than half suspect it's for my sense of humour."
"Hm!" Opdyke commented crisply. "They're only husband and wife—after the divorce. What's the row?"
The answer came only in a little sigh, curiously like a groan.
Reed half closed his eyes, and peered up at Brenton through the crack.
"Mental growing pains?" he queried. "Too bad, old man. I thought you had passed that epoch; it generally comes with the cutting of one's wisdom teeth. Anyhow, we all go through it sooner or later."
"Sometimes both," Brenton answered restlessly.
Reed's eyes opened, with a snap.
"You've been through it once before? Of course. I remember now; you started as an ultra-Calvinist, and came over with a flop. Whittenden of Saint Luke's told me. He always claimed he was the man who did the deed."
"You knew Whittenden?" For the moment, Brenton forgot all other matters in the question.
"Rather! And it's not the sort of privilege one is likely to forget. He is 'the whole state of Christ's Church Militant' in his own stubby, curly-headed little person." Reed's voice grew resonant with every syllable.