"It's full of a washed-out, watery, emasculate ghost of a faith," said Martin. "They daren't say what they really do mean for fear of giving the show away. So they talk about Evolution and the Unknowable and 'may be something in it.'"
"The religion of the Oxford don," said Chard magnificently from his corner, "is the sickly bastard of nervousness and inertia."
"I'll give you a quid to say that at the Union," said Martin. But Chard valued his career at more than a sovereign.
"Aren't you men a little out of date?" interrupted Davenant. "Chivvying priests and kings was about 1870, wasn't it?"
"Exactly," Rendell cried in triumph. "You've done for priests and kings. Nobody believes in them any more. They've collapsed, and by collapsing become infinitely stronger. Bradlaugh's brigade never foresaw that, when you take away nominal power, you begin to create real power. The weakest side always wins in the end."
"Don't talk Chestertonian drivel," growled Lawrence. "Nobody believes it."
"It's quite true. Religion is stronger than ever just because it's weaker."
"The last flicker," said Martin.
Then the conversation, having reached an impasse, turned of necessity and they were off once more upon matters episcopal.
"I don't see why a bishop should get thousands a year while the curates are half starved," said Lawrence.