"I'm talking of things that I dare say you will think I don't understand," she said; "but Paul has interested me in them, and I had thought, if I went on studying, I might some day work and speak about them. Lots of women do."
"And why not? One of the best speakers I ever heard was a woman."
"I thought you would be sure to hate the notion."
"Why should I, unless——"
"Unless what?"
"You should speak any word against the Master whom I serve," said the rector. "On philanthropic subjects I could go with you heart and soul."
"I would not speak on a subject of which I know nothing," said Sally, eagerly. "I've told you that I am only a seeker after truth, picking up a scrap here and there as I can find it."
"And you will reach the truth after a time," said Mr. Curzon, holding out his hand, "if you are ready to acknowledge a Power higher than yourself, to Whom you may safely appeal to guide you to all truth. Without that, you will grope along in the darkness."
Before Sally could answer he had gone. Was there such a power she wondered? What rest and comfort such a conviction would bring with it. She made no mention of her talk to the rector to Paul when he came in; she shrank from his glib criticism of Mr. Curzon's simple declaration of faith.
As Mr. Curzon walked home he caught sight of Tom Burney leaning over a gate with his back turned towards the road. The very poise of his head, and droop of his shoulders, showed depression of body and mind; and with intuitive sympathy Mr. Curzon stopped and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.