"Yes, and he is always trying to convert me to 'the faith,' as he calls it. We have long arguments, and I always beat him. When he can find nothing more to say, he always scratches his dear old head and says, 'Anyhow you're baptised, and that's one comfort,' then we talk of other things, but he did convert me once."
"How was that?"
"I was in a hurry to try on a frock," said this valuable convert to the Church; "at least the dressmaker was waiting, so I gave in, but only for once."
"What do you believe in, then?" asked Charles, glancing fearfully at the female atheist by his side, who had taken her garden hat from her head and was swinging it by the ribbon.
"I believe in being good, and I believe in father, and I believe one ought always to make every one as happy as possible and be kind to animals. I believe people who ill-treat animals go to hell—at least, I hope they do."
"Do you believe in heaven?" asked Mr Bevan in a pained voice.
"Of course I do."
"Then you are not an atheist," in a voice of relief.
"Of course I'm not. Who said I was?"