“After all, the best way to get the whole thing out of her head is to treat it as a matter of course. A persecution would only make her more determined to be a little martyr—Frederick, are you listening to me?”
“I am reading—or endeavouring to read—my evening paper,” replied Frederick with unvarnished candour.
Mrs. Tregaskis had recourse to a stratagem by which she was frequently obliged to compel her husband’s attention.
She addressed her next remark, in a mysteriously lowered voice, exclusively to the attentive Miss Blandflower.
“The fact is, Minnie, that the child fancies there is more difference between the English Church and the Roman one than there is. She is very ignorant, and so imagines a great deal. If she saw rather more of Romanism, I fancy it would be a case of either kill or cure.”
“You mean,” returned Miss Blandflower acutely, “that she would either want to become a Roman Catholic at once, or else see through the whole thing and give up the idea altogether.”
“Exactly—probably the latter. There’s nothing in the Roman Catholic religion, once you get over the preliminary glamour.”
“To be or not to be,” said Minnie with thoughtful irrelevance.
“With the exceptions of the Pope, and the worship of the Virgin Mary, they have nothing that we haven’t got—Frances can be as High Church as she pleases.”
“Not in my house,” said Frederick unexpectedly.