Religion, he observed, had an advantage that had not escaped the worldly mind. There is no other ideal which a man can live for and live on at the same time.
XIV
SOME THEORIES—AND A WAY OUT
He was sitting in his study late one windy March Saturday when Mrs. Hepworth was announced. He had been in his confessional all the evening. A half-finished letter lay on his blotting-pad, but he had turned away from it and was warming his stockinged feet at the fire. She was heavily veiled, but he divined a crisis at a glance.
"Are you very busy?" she asked, in a smothered voice.
"Very idle," he answered gaily. "The appearances of industry are deceitful. I was really—don't tell—toasting my toes. Are you in any trouble?" he asked in a graver tone, taking her hand in both his.
She nodded, but did not speak. He drew an arm-chair to the fire, and poked a great lump of coal into a blaze.
"There, there!" said he. "Sit down and have the cry out. I have a letter to finish and another to write. By the time they are both done you will be calmer."
He went on with his writing; re-read, sealed, and stamped the two letters, rang the bell, and, when it was answered by one of the mission lads, carried them to the door himself. When he turned to her again the worst was over. She was drying her eyes. He leaned forward and patted her hand.
"What a big baby we are!"