"I suppose so, according to Old Hundred," he said lightly.
"You don't 'suppose so' at all, Julian. You know it, as we all do, however we may act," said Lottie, with emphasis.
"With such a belief, I—would at least treat Him with respect," said Hemstead, quietly. "I should be sorry to be under deep and continued obligations to One toward whom I failed in ordinary courtesy."
"I knew it was wrong," muttered Bel, "but—"
"I have no such belief," said Harcourt, "so your sharp homily does not apply to me."
"Where do your blessings come from?" asked Hemstead.
"Well, those I don't get out of my clients, from where this snow does,—the laws and forces of nature."
"Your faith is like the snow, I think,—very cold."
"If it's cold in winter, it's warm in summer," retorted he, flippantly; and Addie giggled approvingly, for the reason that it sounded flippant and smart.
They had now reached the hamlet of Scrub Oaks, in the centre of which was a small house that seemed bursting with light and noise. Whenever the door opened it appeared to fly open from a pressure within.