"I hoped my presence would not offend you," answered the doctor. "I did not presume to come closer than just within earshot of your devotions. Neither must you think me unfriendly for keeping aloof."
"Certainly not. I would not have you guilty of irreverence."
"That could hardly be, if I recognized no presence."
"There was at least," rejoined Mr. Bevis, "the presence of a good many of your neighbors, to whom you never fail to recognize your duty, and that is the second half of religion: would it not have showed want of reverence toward them, to bring an unsympathetic presence into the midst of their devotion?"
"That I grant," said the doctor.
"But it may be," said the curate, who had come up while they talked, "that what you, perhaps justifiably, refuse to recognize as irreverence, has its root in some fault of which you are not yet aware."
"Then I'm not to blame for it," said Faber quietly.
"But you might be terribly the loser by it."
"That is, you mean, if there should be One to whom reverence is due?"
"Yes."