"I am afraid I am not the one to ask," I replied. "You see, I am a rank outsider so far as that kind of thing is concerned."
"For that matter the Church of England is no better," said Mr. Lethbridge.
"Should that console one?" I asked. "Cornwall, as I understand, used to be the home of religious activity, of unquestioning faith, of devoted fervor; but to-day people are careless, materialistic. Faiths which at one time were held tenaciously, doctrines which were believed in unquestioningly, are now apparently a dead letter."
"I suppose you are a Churchman, Mr. Erskine," said Mr. Lethbridge.
"I am afraid I am nothing," I replied. "For several years I did not put my foot inside a Church of any sort."
"Indeed, how is that?"
"I suppose I had no interest," I said. "That was why going to Church on Sunday was something new to me. I felt like a man witnessing a strange thing, and trying to understand something which was unfamiliar."
"Yes, and how did it impress you?"
"Everything was so unconvincing," I replied. "The note of reality was never struck at all."
"But surely," said Mr. Lethbridge, "you are not an atheist?"