"There you are; displaying your ignorance. You talk in that foolish masculine manner of good women, as if good women were in a class by themselves, and different from all others. Why good and evil are such relative terms that sometimes I can't tell one from the other."
"Then you're a miserable sinner, and blind to boot. Good, the genuine article, can never be mistaken for evil, although evil, I grant you, may counterfeit good. Bless me! I've been puzzled a score of times by sinners, but I never mistook a saint."
"How many have you met?"
"More than you think," he replied gravely.
"And where do you place me? Among the sheep or the goats?"
Mark wondered why her lips trembled. She looked tired and pale, much paler than usual.
"What a question!" he said lightly.
"I'll answer it myself, Mark. I have an extraordinary appreciation of good. There are times when I have soared—yes, that's the word—into another world. I had dreams, visions if you like, when I was a girl, but the most vivid experience of the kind came upon me unexpectedly—in Westchester Cathedral, upon the day Archie preached his sermon. I grasped Something that morning which cannot be described, but It was real substance. I grasped It, and I let It go. Since I have wondered what It was. Perhaps I—touched—God."
"Ah!" said Mark. "Go on, go on!"
She saw that his eyes were shining, that the expression which she had missed from his face since her marriage had come back.