“Am I conducting this argument or are you?”
“You seem better able to do it than I, Sir.”
“Well, what did I send you to Oxford for, and to a theological college for, and put you into this living for, if you can’t argue a schoolboy out of the Catholic faith?”
“I’ve pointed out to Gervase, Sir, that the so-called Catholic movement is not the soundest intellectually, and that I don’t see why he should walk three miles to Vinehall on Sundays when he has everything necessary to salvation at his parish church. I can’t go any further than that.”
“How d’you mean?”
“I can’t reason him out of his faith—why should I? On the contrary, I’m very glad he’s found it. I don’t agree with all he believes—I think some of it is extravagant—but I see at least he’s got a religion which will make him happy and keep him straight, and really there’s no cause for me to interfere with it.”
George was purple.
“You’re a fool!” cried Sir John—“you’re a much bigger fool than Gervase, because at least he goes the whole hog, while you as usual are sitting on the fence. It’s just the same now as when I asked you to speak to Mary. If you’d go all the way I’d respect you, or if you’d go none of the way I’d respect you, but you go half way.... Gervase can go all the way to the Pope or to the devil, whichever he pleases—I don’t care now—he can’t be as big a fool as you.”
He turned and walked out of the room, banging the door furiously behind him. The brothers were left alone together. Gervase heaved a sigh of relief.
“Come along with me to the garage,” he said to George, “and help me take the Ford’s carburetor down.”