Harry interrupted in the critical manner.
“Why the sea-side?” he asked.
Mr. Pettit turned to him with unabated cordiality.
“How right to ask!” he said. “Because the sea is His, and He made it! Also, they will build sand-castles, and pick up shells. You must come too, my dear Harry, and help us to give them a nice day.”
Harry felt that this was a Philistine here, who needed to be put in his place. He was not really a very rude youth, but one who felt it incumbent on to oppose Christianity, which he regarded as superstition. A bright idea came into his head.
“But His hands prepared the dry land,” he said, “on the same supposition.”
“Certainly; and as the dear mites have always seen the dry land,” said Mr. Pettit, with the utmost good-humour, “we want to show them that God thought of something they never thought of. And then there are the sand-castles.”
Harry was tired, and did not proceed to crush Mr. Pettit with the atheistical arguments that were but commonplace to the Omar Khayyam Club. He was not worth argument: you could only really argue with the enlightened people who fundamentally agreed with you, and he was sure that Mr. Pettit did not fulfil that requirement. So, indulgently, he turned to Mrs. Altham.
“I saw you at Mrs. Evans’ garden-party yesterday,” he said. “I think she is the most wonderful person I ever met. She was dining here last night, and I took her into the garden——”
“And showed her the roses,” said Mrs. Altham, unable to restrain herself.