“Oh, no, no,” she objected. “Superstition is the belief in something that is ugly and bad and unmeaning. That is the difference between superstition and religion. Religion is the belief in something that is beautiful and good and significant—something that throws light into the dark places of life—that helps us to see and to live.”
“Yes,” said Peter, “I admit the distinction.” After a little suspension, “I thought,” he questioned, “that all Catholics were required to go to Mass on Sunday?”
“Of course—so they are,” said she.
“But—but you—” he began.
“I hear Mass not on Sunday only—I hear it every morning of my life.”
“Oh? Indeed? I beg your pardon,” he stumbled. “I—one—one never sees you at the village church.”
“No. We have a chapel and a chaplain at the castle.”
She mounted her bicycle.
“Good-bye,” she said, and lightly rode away.
“So-ho! Her bigotry is not such a negligible quantity, after all,” Peter concluded.