“No, little Beech Leaf, I haven’t.”
Eve felt troubled and perplexed, and she appealed to Canterton.
“What is one to tell her? It’s so difficult. I wouldn’t hurt her for worlds. I remember I had all the old solemn make-believes given me, and when I found them out it hurt, rather badly.”
He smiled with his grave eyes—eyes that saw so much.
“Do you believe in anything?”
“You mean——”
“Do you think with the nineteenth-century materialists that life is a mere piece of mechanism?”
“Oh, no.”
“Something or someone is responsible. We have just as much right to postulate God as we postulate ether.”
“Yes.”