"Why will you start such uncomfortable topics, dear?" he said, half laughing. "What has poor Williams done that you should imagine such things?"
"I want to know what you would do if Mr. Williams—if any priest you know were to break his vows and leave the Church, what would you do?"
"Follow the judgment of the Church," said Helbeck quietly.
"And give up your friend!"
"Friendship, darling, is a complex thing—it depends upon so much. But I am so tired of my letters! Your hat is in the hall. Won't you come out?"
He rose, and bent over her tenderly, his hand on the table. In a flash she felt all the strange dignity, the ascetic strength of his personality; it was suggested this time by the mere details of dress—by the contrast between the worn and shabby coat, and the stern force of the lips, the refined individuality of the hand. She was filled anew with the sudden sense that she knew but half of him—a sudden terror of the future.
She lay back in her chair, meeting his eyes and trying to smile. But in truth she was quivering with impatience.
"I won't move till I have my answer! Please tell me—would—would you regard him as a lost soul?"
"Dearest! I am neither Williams's judge nor anyone else's! Of course I must hold that a man who breaks the most solemn vows endangers his soul. What else do you expect of me?"
"What do you mean by 'soul'? Have I a soul?—and what do you suppose is going to happen to it?"