"I was looking for you," said Peter, when they were out in the alley that led to the church door.
"It's time we went, isn't it," she said apathetically.
Then she added, inconsequently, "The church seems the only place where one can find a bit of peace. I can't think why, when probably it's all a fairy-tale."
"I suppose that's why," said Peter. "Fairyland is the most peaceful country there is."
"You can't get peace out of what's not true," Rhoda insisted querulously.
"Oh, I don't know.... Besides, fairy-tales aren't necessarily untrue, do you think? I don't mean that, when I call what churches teach a fairy-tale. I mean it's beautiful and romantic and full of light and colour and wonderful things happening. And it's probably the truer for that."
"D'you believe it all?" queried Rhoda; but he couldn't answer her as to that.
"I don't know. I never do know exactly what I believe. I can't think how anyone does. But yes, I think I like to believe in those things; they're too beautiful not to be true."
"It's the ugly things that are true," she said, coughing in the fog.
"Why, yes, the ugly things and the beautiful; God and the devil, if one puts it like that. Oh, yes, I believe very much in the devil; I can't believe that any street of houses could look quite like this without the help of someone utterly given over to evil thinking. We aren't, you see; none of us are ugly enough in our minds to have thought out some of the things one sees; so there must be a devil."