"Thank God, I am, my dear! I need it."
"It's a terrible thing to make the mistake I did."
"It's worse to go on with it."
"I should have liked to go on with it. I feel as people must who've lost their religion."
"Is that so sad, if the religion is proved not to be true?"
"Yes, terribly sad." Vivien's back was to the street. She wept silently; none saw her tears save Doris. "I thought I had lost everything. It's worse to find that you never had anything, and have lost nothing."
"It's good to find that out, when it's true," Doris persisted stoutly. "But I hope he won't happen on any more girls like you. With the proper people—his Mrs. Freeres and Lady Lucies—the thing's a farce. That's all right!"
Her bitter ridicule pierced the armour of Vivien's recollection. With the proper people it was all a farce. She had taken it as a tragedy. Her tears ceased to flow, but her colour came hot again.
"I don't know anything about those women—I never heard their names—but he seems to have insulted me almost as much as he insulted you."
The Nun was relentless. "In both cases he considered, and still considers, that he paid a very high compliment. And he'll find lots of women to agree with him."