"I propose to become a Catholic."
Loring started and sat down on the arm of a chair without speaking. Jack's natural stolidity was a guarantee against melodrama.
"You can't do that, Jack," he said at length.
"We know several people who have."
"I won't criticize them, because they may already have been Catholics in everything but name. They're entitled to the benefit of the doubt. But you and I have talked religion a hundred times. It wouldn't be straight dealing."
"Then I'm glad I've not talked religion with any one else. There'll be no one else to give me away. I'm entitled to the benefit of the doubt."
"No one would believe you; Barbara certainly wouldn't; and you'd never be able to impose on yourself. You'd always feel dishonoured, Jack."
There was a long silence, in which Loring was visibly the more embarrassed. Jack smoked his cigar tranquilly, looking ahead of him at the fire-place and not striving to pose either as hero or as cynic.
"My dear Jim," he answered at length, "if this were an easy question, where I could trust my own judgement, I wouldn't inflict my troubles on you like this. I won't pretend I like it. If you could suggest a better way.... Now, when once the thing's done, there's no discussion; I don't question Barbara's bona fides and I won't let her question mine. Any children will be full-blooded Catholics, and the question will never be raised again. I've completed a formality; she will in fact marry a Catholic, which is what she's sticking out for, and I'll see to it that no shadow of difference ever arises from religion. It's not easy, God knows. Incidentally, the entire world will say I'm marrying her for her money and getting converted so that she shan't forfeit it. Always a pleasant thing to hear.... However, necessity knows no law."