“Simply, then,” he said, “he puts them above the love of God. I do not understand how a Christian can do that. And I do not want to understand it,” he added.
They had reached the rectory, and Mr. Challoner paused on the terrace walk.
“Is he a good boy?” he asked, suddenly.
“Morally? Yes, I am sure of it.”
“How do you know that?” asked his father.
“Because I know his opinion about immorality. He feels very strongly that it must blunt the artistic sense.”
Mr. Challoner winced as if in sudden pain.
“Ah,” he cried, “is that all? Dear God, is that all?”
“The result in the way of conduct is identical,” said Frank, quietly.
“Yes, yes; but are we not taught that works without faith are dead? Ah, I beg your pardon; indeed I do, my dear fellow. I spoke without thinking. I was thinking only of my poor Martin. Pray, forgive me. And is he happy, do you think?”