"I had no end of a difficulty in seeing the parents. It was the father I wanted to get at and he was very inaccessible."
"You had an interview with Ananda, of course. I knew him in England, and should like to hear how he is getting on. I don't care a bit about his stupid old father. Why can't the father let the son alone, and allow him to take his own line?"
"The step involves so much."
"If that is so, then Ananda shouldn't have taken it."
Alderbury put down his cup suddenly, his mind entirely diverted from the business of tea-drinking by her words.
"You don't mean that you really think he ought not to have become a Christian?" he inquired, in a grave voice that had lost the lightness with which he had greeted her on arrival home from his visit.
The seriousness of his manner awoke a spirit of perverseness.
"I am of the opinion that he might have had more consideration for his father's feelings," she said, with a levity that jarred. "Why should existing relations that seemed so satisfactory be disturbed?" Then, as Alderbury remained silent, she continued: "There is a time for all things. It is too soon to ask educated India to accept Christianity; the way is studded with such colossal difficulties. Don't you often feel that you are fighting against almost insuperable obstacles?"
"In short you think it would be more expedient for the missionary to run away or temporise, instead of buckling on his armour and standing up to the enemy. What about our responsibilities and lending a helping hand to our fellow-men? The marsh is a good enough place for the horse to wallow in, and the man enjoying the firm ground of the meadow has no duty towards the poor beast! Miss Wenaston, that is a poor creed."
"Are you so sure that the Hindu is in the mud?" she asked, more in a spirit of provocation than honest inquiry.