“Come, Ginevra,” said he in an ill-humored manner, “are you going to insist that I must always agree with you?”
“By no means, Lorenzo, you know very well.”
“But you did not like it because you had to go to church without me this morning.”
I hesitated an instant, but at last replied with some emotion:
“Of course I love to have you with me wherever I go, and more especially there; but it would be better, however, for you to go to church always without me than ever to go solely for me.”
This reply increased his displeasure, and he said in a tone he had never used before:
“Unfortunately, the truth is, my dear child, if I should consult my own inclinations, I might perhaps never go at all.”
Tears came into my eyes, and my heart ached with the strongest feeling of grief I had ever experienced!...
O my God!... I must have had some love for thee, even at that time, since the very thought of any one's not loving thee caused me so much pain!...
Lorenzo's tone, look, and whole manner not only showed his utter indifference, but the complete incredulity he felt. I had never suspected it before, because it was something foreign to my experience. I knew it was possible to violate the law of God, but did not know it could be denied. I understood lukewarmness and negligence, for I had seen both in others as well as in him; but I had never before encountered lack of repentance and ignorance of duty. This cold denial of any love for God and of all belief in him Lorenzo, of course, had not expressly declared, but it had been betrayed by his manner doubtless even more than he would have wished. With all the inconsistencies of my character and the faults of my age, he must have seen that I had too lively and profound a faith not to be displeased at anything that jarred on it, and heretofore he had been circumspect without being hypocritical.