“For a logician,” said Michael, “your conclusion is bad, being entirely unrelated to any of our premises. Secondly, were I inclined to label myself as anything, I should be disposed to label myself as a Catholic already.”
“Oh, I know that affectation!” scoffed Alan.
“Well, the net result of our commentary is that you, like everybody else, object to Mrs. Ross changing her opinions, because you don’t like it. Her position is negligible, the springs of action being religious. Now if my mother went over to Rome I should be rather bucked on her account.”
“My dear chap, if you don’t mind my saying so,” suggested Alan as apologetically as his outraged conventionality would allow, “your mother has always been rather given to—er—all sorts of new cults, and it wouldn’t be so—er—noticeable in her case. But supposing Stella——”
Michael looked at him sharply.
“Supposing Stella did?” he asked.
“Oh, of course she’s artistic and she’s traveled and—oh, well, I don’t know—Stella’s different.”
At any rate, thought Michael, he was still in love with Stella. She was evidently beyond criticism.
“You needn’t worry,” said Michael. “I don’t think she ever will.”
“You didn’t think Aunt Maud ever would,” Alan pointed out.