'She does,' said Nicholas. 'Undoubtedly. I'm not sure I agree with her, but that's a detail. She thinks she's doing it.... Well, I gather she'll be home very soon now.'
'And I suppose Mr. West thinks he's doing it, doesn't he—fighting war, I mean, with his Church and things.'
'Yes, West thinks so too. Again, I don't particularly agree with his methods, but that's his aim.'
'You don't particularly agree with any methods, do you?'
'No; I think they're mostly pretty rotten. And in this case I believe, personally, we're up against a hopeless proposition. West calls it the devil, and is bound by his profession to believe it will be eventually overcome. I'm not bound to believe that any evil or lunacy will be overcome; it seems to me at least an open question. Some have been, of course; others have scarcely lessened in the course of these several million years. However, as West remarks, the world, no doubt, is still young. One should give it time. Anyhow, one has to; no other course is open to us, however poor a use we may think it puts the gift to.... That's West, I think. Hullo, West; we've been talking about you. We were discussing your incurable optimism.'
2
West looked tired. He shook hands with Alix and sat down by the window. Alix did not feel it mattered that he should see she had been crying, because clergymen, who visit the unfortunate, the ill-bred, the unrestrained, must every day see so many people who have been crying that they would scarcely notice.
'Incurable,' West repeated, and the crisp edge of his voice was flattened and dulled by fatigue. 'Well, I hope it is. There are moments when one sees a possible cure looming in the distance.'
'I was saying,' said Nicholas, 'that you're bound, by your profession, to believe in the final vanquishing of the devil.'
'I believe I am,' West assented, without joy. 'I believe so.'