"You need not, I know." Her eyes fell on the Lawyer, and she caught a laugh in his eye. "What does that mean?" she asked.
"Well," said the Lawyer, "I was only thinking. She was religious, that dear little Josephine?"
"At least she always went to church."
"I know the type," said the Violinist, gently. "Accepted what she was taught, believed it."
"Exactly," said the Lawyer, "that is what I was getting at. Well then, when her son meets her au dela—he will ask for his father—"
"Or," interrupted the Violinist, "his own mother will claim him."
"Don't worry," laughed the Critic. "It's dollars to doughnuts that she was 'dear little Josephine' to all the Heavenly Host half an hour after she entered the 'gates of pearl.' Don't look shocked. That is not sacrilegious. It is intentions—motives, that are immortal, not facts. Besides—"
"Don't push that idea too far," interrupted the Doctor from the door.
"Don't be alarmed. I was only going to say—there are Ik Marvels au dela—"
"I knew that idea was in your head. Drop it!" laughed the Doctor.