"Now I don't ask you to accept anything contrary to your faith," went on the other gently; "but if you really wish to look into this matter, you must set aside for the present all other presuppositions. You must not begin by assuming that the theologians are always right, nor even in asking how or why these things should happen. The one point is, Do they happen?"
His last words had a curious little effect as of a sudden flame. He had spoken smoothly and quietly; then he had suddenly put an unexpected emphasis into the little sentence at the end. Laurie jumped, internally. Yes, that was the point, he assented internally.
"Now," went on the other, again in that slow, reassuring voice, flicking off the ash of his cigarette, "is it possible for you to doubt that these things happen? May I ask you what books you have read?"
Laurie named three or four.
"And they have not convinced you?"
"Not altogether."
"Yet you accept human evidence for a great many much more remarkable things than these—as a Catholic."
"That is Divine Revelation," said Laurie, sure of his ground.
"Pardon me," said the other. "I do not in the least say it is not Divine Revelation—that is another question—but you receive the statement that it is so, on the word of man. Is that not true?"
Laurie was silent. He did not quite know what to say; and he almost feared the next words. But he was astonished that the other did not press home the point.