Sên King-lo looked up in amazement from the match he was striking, and his eyes were not pleased. How came this Englishman to have heard that? A Chinese gentleman does not name his wife to another man—and in China her children may not speak it.
They smoked on in silence. Sir Charles was musing.
“Are you a Christian?” he asked suddenly.
“No,” the Chinese told him, “though I was confirmed at Public School—they made it part of the ‘course,’ as they did cricket and footer—and I took it all as part of the ‘English’ I was there to learn.” He added, but with absolute courtesy, “Are you?”
“I believe in God,” Snow said stoutly.
“So do I.”
“But not in our God, not in hers!”
“I think I do,” Sên King-lo assented. “I believe that there is only one God—many gods, but only one God. Does it matter what we call him? I think not. Or matter how we reach him? I can’t believe it. And, on my soul, I don’t believe that there is much difference between any two religions that are both sincere and devout.”
“Would you say that in China?” Snow demanded quietly.
“I hope so,” Sên King-lo replied, “if I had any reason to do so, to any one who had the right to ask. There still are parts of China, of course, in which it wouldn’t be altogether safe to whisper it even—not for a Chinese to do so—and in them I should not go out of my way to megaphone it. We have not, as it happens, spoken together about religion—Miss Gilbert and I; but I shall not try to convert her to any one of our old Chinese religions. I can promise you that. And they are crumbling fast. Christianity’s the coming religion of China.”