“Then why can’t you heal me instantly?” he said. “If error cannot exist in the presence of Divine Love, how is it that time is required for its destruction?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he said; “but, then, I do not profess to be able to explain everything. Sometimes healing is really instantaneous, sometimes it takes time. But if you ask me why, I confess I can’t tell you. It is so, though.”
He got up.
“Now I must go,” he said, “for though there’s no such thing as time really, it is still possible to miss a train. Now keep on making other pictures of this evening to yourself, and say you will go to bed at eleven.”
Thurso lay back in his big chair after Cochrane had gone, conscious that something else besides laudanum had begun to interest him a little. He felt no leaning or tendency whatever towards Christian Science, and he wanted to find some weak spot in the central theory, some fatal inconsistency, which must invalidate it altogether. There must be one even in the little he had heard about it. At this moment Maud came in.
“I’ve had a long talk to Cochrane,” he said, “and he left only ten minutes ago. Maud, give me a Christian Science book; I’m going to prove that it’s all wrong.”
She laughed.
“Do, dear; it is the business of everybody to expose error. Shall I read it to you?”
“Yes, if you will.”