“And duty towards God is with you such a practical matter that you cannot listen to anything he has got to say about it.”
Florimel shrugged her shoulders.
“For my part, I would give all I have to know there was a God worth believing in.”
“Clementina!”
“What?”
“Of course there is a God. It is very horrible to deny it.”
“Which is worse—to deny it, or to deny him? Now, I confess to doubting it—that is, the fact of a God; but you seem to me to deny God himself, for you admit there is a God—think it very wicked to deny that, and yet you don’t take interest enough in him to wish to learn anything about him. You won’t think, Florimel. I don’t fancy you ever really think.”
Florimel again laughed.
“I am glad,” she said, “that you don’t judge me incapable of that high art. But it is not so very long since Malcolm used to hint something much the same about yourself, my lady!”
“Then he was quite right,” returned Clementina. “I am only just beginning to think, and if I can find a teacher, here I am, his pupil.”