Deeply red, Polly took her courage in both hands, and struck a blow for the soul whose salvation was more to her than her own. "Richard, do you think that ... is ... is right?" she asked in a low voice.
Mahony raised his head. "Eh?—what, Pollykin?"
"I mean, do you think you ought ... that it is right to do what you are doing?"
The smile, half-tender, half-quizzical that she loved, broke over her husband's face. He held out his hand. "Is my little wife troubled?"
"Richard, I only mean..."
"Polly, my dear, don't worry your little head over what you don't understand. And have confidence in me. You know I wouldn't do anything I believed to be wrong?"
"Yes, indeed. And you are really far more religious than I am."
"One can be religious and yet not shut one's eyes to the truth. It's Saint Paul, you know, who says: we can do nothing against the Truth but for the Truth. And you may depend on it, Polly, the All-Wise would never have given us the brains He has, if He had not intended us to use them. Now I have long felt sure that the Bible is not wholly what it claims to be—direct inspiration."
"Oh, Richard!" said Polly, and threw an anxious glance over her shoulder. "If anyone should hear you!"
"We can't afford to let our lives be governed by what other people think, Polly. Nor will I give any man the right to decide for me what my share of the Truth shall be."