"Georgia," he pleaded, "you know that I----" "Yes," in a whisper, "I know." "And do you care, too?" She looked up, and her answer was plain for him to read. "More than you will ever know, Mason," she said. "Georgia, are you a devout Catholic? Does it mean all of life to you here and hereafter?" "No, not very devout. Nothing like mother, for instance. I have grown very careless about some things." "Would you always be governed by the teaching of the Church in this matter--always--never decide for yourself?" "When it came to such a big thing," she said slowly, "I don't think I'd dare disobey." "What are you afraid of--future punishment?" "Why, yes, partly that," she smiled; "it isn't a very jolly prospect, you know." He was truly astonished. He supposed that everybody nowadays, even Catholics, had tacitly agreed to give up hell. Hell was too ridiculously unreasonable to be believed in any more. "Georgia," he asked, "have you ever looked much at the stars?" "Why, yes; once in awhile. Last Sunday evening at Bismarck Garden Al and I found the dipper--it was just as plain--is that what you mean? Of course I don't pretend to be much of an astronomer." "Some nights," he said, "when it's clear I go up on the roof and lie on my back, and, well, it's a great course in personal modesty. Some of those stars, those little points of light, are as much bigger than our whole world as an elephant is bigger than a mosquito, and live as much longer." "Of course," she answered, "we know that everything is bigger than people used to think, but still couldn't God have made it all, just the same?" "Do you honestly believe," he rejoined, speaking very earnestly, intent on shaking her faith, if that were possible, "that Whoever or Whatever was big enough to put the stars in the sky is small enough to take revenge forever on a tiny little molecule like you--or me? Do you honestly suppose that after you are dead, perhaps a long time dead, this mighty God will hunt for you through all the heavens, and when he has found you, you poor little atom of a dead dot, that he will torment and pester you forever and ever because you had once for a space no longer than the wink of an eye acted according to the nature he gave you? If that is your God, he has put nothing in his universe as cruel as Himself." She frowned in a puzzled way for a few seconds, looking at him with an odd little wide-eyed stare, then shook her head slowly. "Yes," said he in answer. "Some day you will take your life in your own hands and use it. You're not the stuff they make nuns out of. There's too much vitality in you. "How old are you?" he asked suddenly. "Twenty-six." "Twenty-six and ready to quit? I don't believe it."