“Because,” she said, very throatily again, “God meant it to be war.”
“You think it was God? Yes, I suppose that is what people will say.”
“Do you suppose it would have been war if God hadn’t meant it?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it seems as if God had put this world into men’s keeping to work it as they pleased.”
“Now, George, that is blasphemy.”
“Well, I won’t blaspheme. I’ll try to believe in your pocket Providence,” he said, and then he rose to go.
“Why don’t you stay to dinner?” Dinner at Balcom’s Works was at one o’clock.
“I’ll come back to supper, if you’ll let me. Perhaps I shall bring you a convert.”
“Well, you may come back, on that condition.”
“All right. If I don’t come, you’ll understand.”