"I don't see what you mean," Candish said.
"I mean that I inherit, like all of us children of the Puritans, the way of looking at things without regard to consequences, of feeling devoutly about whatever seems to us true, and of realizing that individual preferences do not alter the laws of the universe; isn't that the essence of Puritanism?"
"Perhaps," he answered; "but are the unbelievers of to-day devout?"
Ashe looked at his cousin as she paused before answering. He felt that the question must baffle her. He did not comprehend what was behind her faint smile.
"Certainly not all of them," was her reply. "The age isn't greatly given to reverence. I am a Puritan, however, and I must say what I think. I believe that there is a hundredfold more devoutness in the infidelity of New England to-day than in its belief."
Ashe leaned forward in amazement, half overturning his glass in his eagerness.
"Why, that is a contradiction of terms," he exclaimed.
Mrs. Herman's smile deepened.
"Not necessarily, Cousin Philip," returned she.
"It is possible for belief to degenerate into mere conventionality, while sincere doubters at least must have a realization of the mystery and the awe which overshadow life."