“Why, religion,” she replied, “is what the bishops agree are the fundamental teachings of the Church.”
“It is not!” I retorted, with the intimate discourtesy and dogmatism of an old friend who is also an old puritan. “My dear Cornelia,” I hastened to add, “that is theology—not religion.”
“Tell Cornelia,” said Oliver,—whom the high Anglican tendencies of his wife rather amuse,—“tell Cornelia, Professor, what religion is.”
“Your religion,” I responded, “is what you actually believe in, whatever that is. My religion is what I actually believe in, whatever it is. The religion of the average American is what he actually believes in, whatever it is. What do you actually believe in, Cornelia?”
“I believe,” she replied firmly, “in the Apostolic Church, in the communion of saints—”
“His Excellency, for example, among them?” suggested Willys, saucily enough.
“Really, Mr. Willys!” said Cornelia. I felt the air cold on my cheek. I doubt if it lowered the temperature of Willys. He merely said, “I am a realist,” and lapsed again.
Cornelia repeated, “I believe in the Apostolic Church—,” and this time I interrupted.
“The average American,” I said, “does not—at least, he does not believe in it with any such fullness of faith as he accords to baseball.”
“The tone of this conversation is becoming decidedly distasteful to me,” said Cornelia. She picked up a copy of Vogue and buried herself in it, pretending to lose all her interest in our discussion.