"I want to have it," said Guy. "If God won't condescend to give it to me ..." he broke off with a shrug.
"But religion is either true or it isn't true, and if it isn't true why do you encourage me in lies?" she demanded, with desperate entreaty.
"I'm ready to believe," he said.
"How can you expect to have faith if your reason for it is merely to sit next me in church?" she asked, bitterly.
"Now, I think it's you who are being cruel," said Guy.
"I don't care. I don't care if I am cruel. You'll break my heart."
"Good God!" Guy exclaimed. "Haven't I enough to torment me without religion appearing upon the scene? If you want me to hate it.... No, Pauline, I'm sorry ... you mustn't think that I don't long to have your faith. If I only could.... Oh, Pauline, Pauline!"
She yielded to his consolation, and when he told her of the poems sent back almost by return of post from the second publisher she must open wide her compassionate arms. Nevertheless, he had somehow maltreated their love; and Pauline was aware of a wild effort to prepare for sorrow, whether near at hand or still far off she did not know, but she seemed to hear it like a wind rising at sunset.