‘Some people follow their conscience—some drive it.’
‘Now, do let me explain it,’ entreated Emma, and talking eagerly and rather mistily, she told in many more words than were needful how Theresa had serious doubts as to what she termed Anglicanism, reckoning against it every laxity in doctrine or in discipline that came to her knowledge, and admiring everything in other branches of the Church. Emma, taking all for granted that Theresa said, was strongly of the same mind, and while both made high professions of attachment to their own communion, they were in a course of dwelling on all the allurements held out in other quarters. By some astonishing train of reasoning, frequent in persons in a state of excitement and self-deception, they had persuaded themselves that Mark Gardner’s return to his evil courses had been for want of a monastery to receive him; and their tendency to romance about conventual institutions had been exaggerated by the present state of Emma’s spirits, which gave her a desire to retire from the world, as well as a distaste to the projects in which she had lately given her false lover but too large a share. ‘Peace dwells in the cloister,’ she sighed.
‘You have the essentials of such a life in your power,’ said Theodora.
‘Not the fixed rule—the obedience.’
‘Oh! Emma! your mother!’
‘I want discipline—Church discipline as in primitive times,’ said Emma, impatiently.
‘The most primitive discipline of all is, “honour thy father and mother,”’ returned Theodora.
There was a silence. Theodora resumed—‘I know how one would rather do anything than what is required. Violet taught me then that we must not choose our cross.’
Another space, then Emma said, ‘And you call it a subterfuge?’
‘Can you honestly call it otherwise? Don’t bewilder us with explanations, but simply say what you would have thought of it six years ago.’