“But why did you never tell me all this before? I should have understood you so much better.”
“I did not think of it till I considered what would seem strange to you here—what you would not comprehend easily.”
Cheriton remained silent. That Alvar had all his life considered himself so entirely as a Lester and an Englishman was a new light to him, and he could fully appreciate the check of finding himself regarded by the Lesters as an alien, for he knew that even he himself had never ceased so to look upon Alvar.
“We understand each other now,” he said affectionately. “I am glad you have told me this. But, Alvar, though ‘convictions’ may seem to you easy in England, you would make a great mistake if you imagined that the religion of such a man as my father was for the sake of what you call conformity, and that it did not influence his life.”
“No,” said Alvar, “I did not think so of my father and you. I did not comprehend at first, but I see now that—it interests you.”
“Never doubt that,” said Cheriton earnestly. “You have seen all my failures, but never doubt that is the one thing ‘interesting,’ the one thing to—to give one another chance.”
He paused as a look of unspeakable enthusiastic conviction passed over his face; then blushed intensely, and was silent. Like most young men, whatever their views, he was in the habit of talking a good deal of “theology,” and could have rectified Alvar’s hazy notions with ease; but personal experiences in such discussions were generally left on one side.
Alvar did not follow him; but perhaps that look made more impression than a great many arguments on the status of religion in England.
“Don’t imagine I underrate your difficulties, or my own, or any one’s,” Cherry added hurriedly.
“I have no difficulties,” said Alvar simply; “I believe you—always—Now, do not talk any longer—rest before you get up.”