"No. What was your class?"
"Before your time, I think." He went on to tell me some reminiscences of Hilltown in his day. He had been a 'varsity half-back, and I remembered now the tradition of him that came down to our crowd. I was annoyed to discover that I was beginning to feel at ease. At last we reached the point. Would I go to communion with Helen the Sunday before our marriage?
I did not know what to say. I did not wish to hurt Mrs. Claybourne's feelings, but I did not see how I could, in honesty. I put my difficulty to him.
"My mother belongs to the Church of England," I explained, "and it is the only one I have ever attended—except cathedrals on the Continent. But I don't know what I believe."
"Do any of us?" he said with a rather wonderful softness in his eyes. "Do we have to believe anything? Isn't faith enough?"
I thought for a while. "I don't wish to commit perjury," I said.
He smiled. "You have faith enough to believe it would be perjury?"
"Or false pretences. Your church—the Episcopal—is a great tradition—one I respect as I do our other English-speaking traditions—all the things we stand for that make up the decent things of this world. I value all of it too much to lie about it. Don't you see?—I can't come to communion, for it means too much to come dishonestly."
"You are very young, Edward," he smiled with his hand on my shoulder. "Will you let an older man decide?"
"I wish I could," I said.