“Yes, he'll resign, you'll see, he's got no worldly sense; not a grain.”
“Then I shall have spoiled his life, just as if—oh, no!”
“Let's sit down here. I must be back at eleven.”
They sat down on a bench, where the green cliff stretched out before them, over a sea quite clear of haze, far down and very blue.
“Why should he resign,” cried Noel again, “now that I've gone? He'll be lost without it all.”
George smiled.
“Found, my dear. He'll be where he ought to be, Nollie, where the Church is, and the Churchmen are not—in the air!”
“Don't!” cried Noel passionately.
“No, no, I'm not chaffing. There's no room on earth for saints in authority. There's use for a saintly symbol, even if one doesn't hold with it, but there's no mortal use for those who try to have things both ways—to be saints and seers of visions, and yet to come the practical and worldly and rule ordinary men's lives. Saintly example yes; but not saintly governance. You've been his deliverance, Nollie.”
“But Daddy loves his Church.”