"It seems so strange."
"You'll get used to it."
"And father is away."
"All the more reason."
"But we can't, till he comes back."
"Yes, we can; there are plenty of churches about. By-the-way, you don't go to one, do you? You know, I never thought much of those unbeliefs of yours."
"What do you mean?" she asked, struggling out of his arms and trying to be collected and sensible, but finding it rather difficult.
"Well, you know, I think people often believe in things and don't know it, or don't believe in anything and yet imagine they do. I can't see that it matters myself, so long as one tries to do the right thing. If all the roads lead to heaven, it doesn't matter what language one talks on the journey, or whether one arrives in a monk's cowl or with a feather in one's cap."
"You are talking nonsense," she said, looking at his face and thinking what a dear one it was.