"Yes, you do!" she sharply insisted. "But I want to know"--what did she want to know?--"I want to know--did you mean it when you said--you know, at supper--that there's no virtue in believing?" He stammered: "Did I say there was no virtue in believing?" She cried out, irritated: "Of course you did! Do you mean to say you can say a thing like that and then forget about it? If it's true, it's one of the most wonderful things that were ever said. And that's why I wanted to know if you meant it, of whether you were only saying it because it sounded clever." She stopped momentarily, wondering why she was thus implying an untruth; for the fact was that she had never doubted that he had been in earnest. "That's what they're always doing in that house, you know--being clever!" she went on, in a tone apparently inimical to 'that house.' "Yes," came the voice. "I meant it. Why?" And the voice was so simple and so sincere that it pierced straight to her heart and changed her secret mood swiftly to the religious, so that she really was occupied by the thoughts with which, a moment previously, she had only pretended to be occupied; and the splendour of the revelation was renewed. Nevertheless, some impulse, perverse or defensive, compelled her to assume a doubt of his assurance. She suspected that, had she not adopted this tactic, she might have melted before him in gratitude. "You did?" she murmured. She thanked him, after that, rather coldly; and they talked a little about the mere worry of these religious questions. He protested that they never worried him, and reaffirmed his original proposition. "I hope you are right," she said softly, in a thrilled voice. She was thinking that this was the most wonderful, miraculous experience that she had ever had. V Silence. "Now," she thought, "I must go back." Inwardly she gave a delicious sigh. But just as she was about to take her prim leave, the scarce-discerned figure of her companion stepped out into the garden. "By Jove!" said Edwin Clayhanger. "It's beginning to rain, I do believe." The wind blew, and she felt rain on her cheek. Clayhanger advised her to stand against the other wall of the porch for better protection. She obeyed. He re-entered the porch, but was still exposed to the rain. She called him to her side. Already he was so close that she could have touched his shoulder by outstretching her arm. "Oh! I'm all right!" he said lightly, and did not move. "You needn't be afraid of me!" She was hurt that he had refused her invitation to approach her. The next instant she would have given her tongue not to have uttered those words. But she was in such a tingling state of extreme sensitiveness as rendered it impossible for her to exercise a normal self-control.