Meanwhile Eve’s friendship with Lynette became a thing of unforeseen responsibilities. Lynette would come running out into the gardens directly her lessons were over, search for Eve, and seat herself at her feet with all the devotedness of childhood that sets up idols. Sometimes Lynette brought a story-book or her paint-box, but these were mere superfluities. It was the companionship that mattered.
It appeared that Lynette was getting behind Miss Vance and her Scripture lessons, and she began to ask Eve a child’s questions—questions that she found it impossible to answer. Miss Vance, who was a solid and orthodox young woman, had no difficulty at all in providing Lynette with a proper explanation of everything. But Lynette had inherited her father’s intense and sensitive curiosity, and she was beginning to walk behind Miss Vance’s machine-made figures of finality and to discover phenomena that Miss Vance’s dogmas did not explain.
“Who made the Bible, Miss Eve?”
“A number of wise and good men, dear.”
“Miss Vance says God made it.”
“Well, He made everything, so I suppose Miss Vance is right.”
“Has Miss Vance ever seen God?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But she seems to know all about Him, just as though she’d met Him at a party. Have you seen Him?”
“No.”