“I–––”
“Would you advise me to give that work up for a while till all this blows over?”
“No, indeed!” she declared strongly. “I think–––Well, he says that you are not orthodox. Do you need to preach like that?”
“If my theology is of poor quality, I can’t help it. I can preach only what is truth and reality to me.”
“But couldn’t you be more careful how you do it? Couldn’t you be less frank, or something? Should you antagonize your people so?”
“I’m sorry if I have really antagonized any one by what I say. Do you find anything unorthodox in my sermons?”
“That isn’t a fair question to ask me. I’m 197 not familiar with such things. I thought you might preach less openly what you believe so strenuously. Coat the pills so they’ll go down with the taste of orthodoxy.” She smiled faintly. “I hate to see you putting weapons in their hands.”
“And do you honestly think I’d be dealing fair with myself or with those to whom I preach to sugar-coat my thoughts with something that looks like poison to me?”
She did not reply, but with a quick look she flashed from her wonderful eyes a message he could not fail to catch even in the semi-darkness. She dropped her hand lightly on his sleeve, and his fingers quickly closed over hers. She drew nearer. He could feel the straying wisps of fair hair against his hot cheek. His emotions taxed all his powers of self-control.
“We must be going,” she said, rising. “Oh, I forgot your foot! You must wait here till I send the trap for you along the beach.”