“Well, you must help me to decide whether I ought to give her this letter at once. I can't take so much responsibility.”
“Neither can I. She is a perfectly free woman now, at any rate.”
He did not approve of the situation, and he made no attempt to conceal his feelings. His face became set. Pensée thought she detected a certain reprimand in the very tone of his voice.
“It isn't a common case,” she repeated again. “He says he is on his way to Rome—to the Jesuits—for a long Retreat, if they will take him. If he knew—what has happened—he might change his mind.”
“What! you would have him turn back?”
“Oh, don't be so hard.”
“I am not hard,” he added more gently. “But would this woman, if she really loved him, wish him to turn back? And, if there is anything in him, could he ever be happy in any stopping short of the fullest renunciation—once resolved on that renunciation?”
“Ah, don't put it that way to her. She has had so much trouble already. Your Church seems so selfish. Forgive me, but I do resent these celibate views. They are unnatural.”
“I shan't interfere. Take her the letter by all means. She must decide for herself.”