Mynheer Mopius sat back, puffing and snorting.
“Nonsense!” he said—“Ursula, nonsense! What do women know about politics? Your father confessed he knew nothing, so he can’t have taught you. And Otto, I was given to understand—”
“Let us leave Otto out of the question, please,” interrupted Ursula, with some asperity. “In this matter, at least, I am my own mistress.”
“But the traditions of the Van Helmont family—”
“The traditions of the Van Helmont family are, of course, Conservative, and Conservatism is dead. At this moment I, a woman, have to choose, according to my feeble lights, between State atheism and a persecuted sect.”
“And lose,” said Mopius, “the five thousand florins.”
But that was a stupid move. Ursula’s eye kindled in the silence which ensued.
“Ursula,” exclaimed Jacóbus in despair, for he saw his chances fading, “you are utterly unreasonable! How dare you suggest that I am an atheist, that I have any objection to religion? I distinctly approve of religion. It is a praise-worthy and highly respectable thing, and I always allow the servants to go to church. Your aunt Josine is right: you are nothing but a foolish child. What do you know about politics?”
“Very little,” replied Ursula, calmly; “but it seems to me that the less one knows about politics, the better one can choose between principles. And I choose the principle of liberty to worship God.”
Jacóbus flourished his big hand till he almost touched her face. “Hang your quiet way!” he cried. “There’s no talking to a woman like you. So you mean to tell me your mind’s made up, you fool? Instead of living here in luxury and splendor, all settled and comfortable, as I suggest, you’ll let this over-mortgaged place come under the hammer, and go home to your old father without clothes to your back?”