The doctor paused and chuckled softly.
"I asked him," he resumed, "why, if the slaves outnumbered the masters, the sum of virtue might not be greater under slavery. But of course he had his answer, we were not to do evil that good might come.... Shall we walk on? The women-folks are probably consulting about something or other. They do a lot of church-work."
After a moment's hesitation, Carlin accompanied him.
"I didn't know Mary was so much interested in the church," he said moodily. "She wasn't, before."
"Well," said the doctor. "The war has made a difference, you know. Life has been harder—not many amusements—and lots of tragedies and suffering. We've had losses in our own family.... The church was about the only social thing that didn't seem wrong, to the women, you see. And they've done a lot of work, through it, for the soldiers and all that.... Yes, Mary's changed a good deal, she's very serious. I think the preacher has had a good deal of influence."
"How?" asked Carlin abruptly.
"Why, in getting her to think this world is vanity, a vale of tears, a place of trial, and so on.... It is, maybe, but she's too young to feel it so. I hope she'll get out of that and enjoy life a little," the doctor ended, with much feeling.
They walked on in silence. Carlin's heart was sore. The doctor had not mentioned his absence and peril as having anything to do with the change in Mary. Well, perhaps it hadn't had. He gave way to a sudden impulse.
"You're not against her marrying me, are you?" he asked tremulously. "I know your wife is. She doesn't like me."
"No, I like you, and I think well of you, Laurence," was the doctor's grave answer. "As far as you're concerned, I've no objection.... But sometimes I think Mary isn't ready to marry yet."