“It is serious. And the worst of it is that you will laugh at it—and I am sure you will say that I am not honest to myself. And yet I am. You see it is connected with things about which you and I don’t think alike.”
“Religion?” suggested Ralston, in a tone of enquiry.
Katharine bowed her head slowly, sighed just audibly and looked away from him as she leaned back. Nothing could have expressed more clearly her conviction that the subject was one upon which they could never agree.
“I don’t see why you should sigh about it,” said Ralston, in a tone which expressed relief rather than perplexity. “I often wonder why people generally look so sad when they talk about religion. Almost everybody does.”
“How ridiculous!” exclaimed Katharine, with a little laugh. “Besides, I wasn’t sighing, exactly—I was only wishing it were all arranged.”
“Your religion?”
“Don’t talk like that. I’m in earnest. Don’t laugh at me, Jack dear—please!”
“I’m not laughing. Can’t you tell me how religion bears on the matter in hand? That’s all I need to know. I don’t laugh at religion—at yours or any one else’s. I believe I have a little inclination to it myself.”
“Yes, I know. But—well—I don’t think you have enough to save a fly—not the smallest little fly, Jack. Never mind—you’re just as nice, dear. I don’t like men who preach.”
“I’m glad of it. But what has all this to do with our getting married?”