"I went to-day to say good-by to my sinful folly. I shall not go again."
A prickling irritation began to make itself felt in the mind of Maurice. Even so slight a contact with the material realities of life as this interest in the will had put him completely out of tune with the monkish mood.
"Oh, stuff, Phil!" he exclaimed. "For heaven's sake don't be so morbid.
You talk like a mediæval anchorite."
Ashe regarded him with a look of pain.
"It doesn't seem possible that this is you, Maurice."
"It is I," was the sturdy answer; "and it is I in a sane frame of mind, old fellow. Come, it's no sin to be human; and as far as I can see that's the only fault you've committed."
"Maurice," Ashe retorted in a voice of intense feeling, "have you thrown away everything that we believe? Aren't you with us any more?"
The pronoun which seemed to separate him from the company to which his friend belonged struck harshly on Maurice's ear. He felt himself being forced to define for Philip thoughts which he had thus far declined to define for himself.
"Phil," he said determinedly, "I insist that your way of looking at this whole matter is morbid; and I won't get into a discussion with you. I'm in too good spirits to let you upset them. To think I shall get my property after all."
"But our lives are devoted to poverty."