"I have prayed, dear, and as I pray—oh, Edith, I don't know! But nothing stops my seeing. It just gets clearer. Everything fits. Little things sort of seem to come my way. If it's wrong, surely our Lord Whom I do love, Edith, and Whom I have tried to serve, won't let me go wrong."
"But suppose,—suppose it's a temptation?"
"I know. Dad says it's the Devil. Exactly. 'They called the Master of the House Beelzebub, and how much more they of His Household?' Everything fits."
"Oh, Paul," she cried, "there you go again! I can't argue with you. I——"
"No, because it's unanswerable. And it's been so for two thousand years."
"Paul, Paul, do pray!"
"Darling, I do pray. But what can I do? Mother says: 'Cling to the Book—Don't let go the Word,' but the Word itself seems to me to point that way. I can't help it; it does. I don't want to be a Roman Catholic. I'd hate to be. But, Edith, oh Edith, Edith, why is there no answer when one prays?"
"Paul, there is, there is!"
He turned on her. "Then you pray. Now. Here. God will answer you, perhaps."
"Oh, I can't, Paul. Not with you here. I wouldn't dare."