“One of the things which troubled me most was your reference to modern criticism,” she went on, recovering her facility. “I was brought up to believe that the Bible was true. The governess—Miss Standish, you know, such a fine type of Englishwoman—reads the children Bible stories every Sunday evening. They adore them, and little Wallis can repeat them almost by heart—the pillar of cloud by day, Daniel in the lions' den, and the Wise Men from the East. If they aren't true, some one ought to have told us before now.”
A note of injury had crept into her voice.
“How do you feel about these things yourself?” Holder inquired.
“How do I feel? Why, I have never thought about them very much—they were there, in the Bible!”
“You were taught to believe them?”
“Of course,” she exclaimed, resenting what seemed a reflection on the Gore orthodoxy.
“Do they in any manner affect your conduct?”
“My conduct?” she repeated. “I don't know what you mean. I was brought up in the church, and Mr. Plimpton has always gone, and we are bringing up the children to go. Is that what you mean?”
“No,” Hodder answered, patiently, “that is not what I mean. I ask whether these stories in any way enter into your life, become part of you, and tend to make you a more useful woman?”
“Well—I have never considered them in that way,” she replied, a little perplexed.