"No, sir," I said quickly—that was a little story and then again it was not, I reasoned.
"So I must conclude that you feared for the safety of your friend, reading, as you thought you did, the terrible selfishness of my heart.
"I guess that is about right," I said.
"You admit this as a fact?"
"Yes; before a judge, if you desire," I said.
"That being the case, let me here say from my heart I am not as much in love with Mrs. Desmonde as I might be, and one reason is that I find her more and more enveloped in the strange fancies peculiar, I judge, to herself alone."
"What am I to understand from this? Strange fancies, indeed! If truth and love are strange fancies, she is indeed enveloped. My darling Clara! She is a light leading to the eternal city. I knew you could not understand her."
"Well, Miss Minot, let me explain. I know she is graceful, and beautiful, and truly good, but none can know positively there is an eternal city, and I must say I do not feel interested in the dreamy talk, which is, after all, only talk."
"Goodness!" I exclaimed, "are you an infidel?"
"I cannot vouch for anything beyond this life."