"How silly! You are nearly eighteen, now, aren't you?—and about six feet tall?"
"Both," he said briefly.
"And all the way along you've been meaning to be a minister?"
He gritted his teeth. "That's all over, now; I reckon it's been over for a long time."
"That is more serious. Does your mother know?"
He shook his head.
"She mustn't, Tom; it will just break her heart."
"As if I didn't know!" he said bitterly. "But, Ardea, I haven't been quite square with you. The way I told it about the cards and the whisky you might think—"
"I know what you are going to say. But it needn't make any all-the-time difference, need it? You've been backsliding—isn't that what you call it?—but now you are sorry, and—"
"No; that's the worst of it. I'm not sorry, the way I ought to be. Besides, after what I've been these last two years—but you can't understand; it would just be mockery—mocking God. I told you I wasn't worth your while."