“My dear,” he said in a low voice, and his firm hand closed over the slim fingers he had kissed.
Benton got up from his chair, went to the window, turned shortly and came over to Tressa.
“You’re braver than I ever could learn to be,” he said shortly. “I ask your pardon if I seem sceptical. I’m more worried than incredulous. There’s something born in me—part of me—that shrinks from anything that upsets my orthodox belief in the future life. But—if you wish me to see this—this girl—Yulun—it’s quite all right.”
She said softly, and with gentle wonder: “I know of nothing that could upset your belief, Mr. Benton. There is only one God. And if Mahomet be His prophet, or if he be Lord Buddha, or if your Lord Christ be vice-regent to the Most High, I do not know. All I know is that God is God, and that He prevailed over Satan who was stoned. And that in Paradise is eternal life, and in hell demons hide where dwells Erlik, Prince of Darkness.”
Benton, silent and secretly aghast at her theology, said nothing. Recklow pleasantly but seriously denied that Satan and his demons were actual and concrete creatures.
Again Cleves’s hand fell lightly on his wife’s shoulder, in a careless gesture of reassurance. And, to Benton, “No soul is ever lost,” he said, calmly. “I don’t exactly know how that agrees with your orthodoxy, Benton. But it is surely so.”
“I don’t know myself,” said Benton. “I hope it’s so.” He looked at Tressa a moment and then blurted out: “Anyway, if ever there was a soul in God’s keeping and guarded by His angels, it’s your wife’s!”
“That also is true,” said Cleves quietly.
“By the way,” remarked Recklow carelessly, “I’ve arranged to have you stop at the Ritz while you’re in town, Mrs. Cleves. You and your husband are to occupy the apartment adjoining this. Where is your luggage, Victor?”
“In our apartment.”