"Well," he said, after a short pause—during which he had gone on with the rapid, practiced strokes of his pencil,—"all that is natural enough, and there is no harm in it unless one wished to enjoy some of the unlawful things which the world offers. But why should one not do all this—make a name and conquer fortune—and still give some thought to the great question of one's final end and destiny?"
She made a slight gesture of impatience. "You know very well," she said, "that, as a matter of fact, an ambitious man has no time for considering such questions."
"That depends entirely upon the man. You should not make your assertions so sweeping. In these days, at least, no man of thought—no man who is at all interested in intellectual questions—can ignore the subject of religion. Let me illustrate my meaning. Would you have been surprised to learn that I were an Agnostic or a Positivist?"
"No," she replied, somewhat reluctantly. "That would have been different."
"Only different because they are fashionable creeds of the hour, and it is considered a proof of intellectual strength to stultify reason, and, in the face of the accumulated proofs of ages, to declare that man can know nothing of his origin or his end. But when, on the contrary, one accepts a logical and luminous system of thought, a revelation which offers an explanation of the mystery of being entirely consistent with reason, you think that very remarkable! Forgive me, Miss Lynde, if I say that I find your opinion quite as remarkable as you can find my faith."
She blushed, but answered haughtily: "That may be. It was no doubt presumptuous of me to express any opinion on the subject. I really don't know why I did it, except that I was so much surprised, in the first place by the fact that you had thought of the matter, and in the second place by the avowal which vexed your uncle."
"I am sorry to have vexed him," said Earle, quietly; "but he is too much of a philosopher to allow it to trouble him long—indeed I have no idea that it has troubled him at all."
She did not answer, but the expression in her eyes was one of so much wonder that he smiled. "What is it now?" he asked. "What are you still surprised at?"
"I hardly like to tell you," she replied. "I feel as if I had already said too much—"
"By no means. I like frankness, of all things; especially if I may be allowed to imitate it."