It seemed rather lame to Philip as he went on, but there it was: that was what he meant by the word, and everyone he had ever known had meant that too.
“It is evident to me that I am not a gentleman,” said Weeks. “I don’t see why you should have been so surprised because I was a dissenter.”
“I don’t quite know what a Unitarian is,” said Philip.
Weeks in his odd way again put his head on one side: you almost expected him to twitter.
“A Unitarian very earnestly disbelieves in almost everything that anybody else believes, and he has a very lively sustaining faith in he doesn’t quite know what.”
“I don’t see why you should make fun of me,” said Philip. “I really want to know.”
“My dear friend, I’m not making fun of you. I have arrived at that definition after years of great labour and the most anxious, nerve-racking study.”
When Philip and Hayward got up to go, Weeks handed Philip a little book in a paper cover.
“I suppose you can read French pretty well by now. I wonder if this would amuse you.”
Philip thanked him and, taking the book, looked at the title. It was Renan’s Vie de Jesus.