But Joyce quickly put her Bible in it and drew away from him. “No!” she said. “No. We could never be one in spirit or in anything else while you deny the inspiration of the Scriptures and call those wonderful expositions that we heard tonight rot and twaddle and nonsense. You are one of those people that it warns against in the Bible: ‘Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy, and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.’ It also says: ‘Avoiding profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of science, falsely so called.’” “Now Joyce, please don’t quote Scripture at me. Let us drop that. If we love each other those things will settle themselves by and by. Let us talk a little while about ourselves. Tell me, you love me, Joyce, don’t you? I’m sure I’ve seen it in your eyes.” “No,” said Joyce frankly, “I don’t think I do. I don’t think it would be possible for me to love any one who thought of the things that are the most precious to me in the way you do.” “But, those things aside, you really in your heart love me? Tell me you do, Joyce. I long to hear you say the words. Just speak out your own true heart. Once that question is settled, the other things will all fall in line.” “I can’t put those things aside, Professor Harrington. They are a part of my soul. Nothing counts without them.” There was a long silence. They had almost reached Joyce’s little home. He suddenly turned her about. “Let us walk back down this next street. It is not late, and if you will not let me come into your house, at least we can walk a little longer. I must have this question settled tonight. I cannot let this separation go on between us any longer.” “The question so far as I am concerned is settled now,” she said firmly. “But Joyce, if it were not for this difference? Suppose I thought as you do, would you say yes?” Joyce hesitated. Theirs had been a pleasant companionship in a way. “I cannot tell,” she said thoughtfully. “It would have made so much difference, I cannot tell how I would have felt.” “There!” he said triumphantly. “You see, I was right. You do love me, only you are so filled with this fanaticism that you won’t let yourself see it.” “You are mistaken,” said Joyce gravely. “I have never even considered it, because from the first of my acquaintance I have known that you were this way.” “This way? _What way?_” he asked sharply. It hurt him to have her criticise him now, when he had declared his love for her. Joyce thought a moment. “You do not believe. You do not understand the things of the Spirit. You base whatever faith you have on the wisdom of men, not in the power of God. Haven’t you ever heard that the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God?”