"I have been very lonely, Arthur. Sometimes I thought I should go mad. It is bad for the mind to feed upon itself. The longer its abstinence the more painful grows its craving; and to satisfy itself at last, it invents strange fancies and dreadful thoughts—and that is how people become crazy. Your face and voice are a new life to me. I feel that I am not dead now. But there have been times when I thought myself a ghost. Did you ever have that feeling? It always brought a pain here;" she touched her forehead. "See there!" she suddenly exclaimed, "what a beautiful butterfly! If I were a little girl I should love to chase it. But I would not now," she added, shaking her head; "those who have suffered much are always merciful."
"Now, Geraldine, I want to speak to you of our marriage."
"Yes." She looked up.
"Are you not a Roman Catholic?"
"I am. Do you like Roman Catholics?"
"Quite as well as Protestants, though I am a stanch Protestant."
"After all we are agreed upon the chief points of religion?"
"Very nearly. Toleration is the most material point in which we differ. But Christianity is the religion of love; and love is large and can find room for many sects. But to revert to our wedding—we shall have to be married in two churches."
"I know."