"Individualistic!" she repeated, as though dazed by the word applied to the religion she had discarded. "I can't understand. Do you think I ever can understand?" she asked him, simply.
"It seems to me you understand more than you are willing to give yourself credit for," he answered seriously. "You don't take into account your attitude."
"I see what you mean—a willingness to take the right road, if I can find it. I am not at all sure that I want to take it. But you must tell me more—more of what you have discovered. Will you?"
He just hesitated. She herself appeared to acknowledge no bar to their further intimacy—why should he?
"I will tell you all I know," he said.
Suddenly, as if by a transference of thought, she voiced what he had in mind.
"You are going to tell them the truth about themselves!" she exclaimed.
"—That they are not Christians!"
His silence was an admission.
"You must see," he told her, after the moment they had looked into each other's faces, "that this is the main reason why I must stay at St. John's, in the Church, if I conscientiously can."
"I see. The easier course would be to resign, to have scruples. And you believe there is a future for the Church."