She flushed a little. “Is it such a mighty mystery it cannot be put into words, nor communicated to my base ears?” “It is simply a sentiment that makes part of my life, and I can’t detach myself from it sufficiently to talk about it.” “Religion, it seems to me, should be eloquent and aggressive. It should wish to make converts, to persuade and illumine, to sway all hearts!” “One’s religion takes the color of one’s general disposition. I am not aggressive, and certainly I am not eloquent.” “Beware, then, of finding yourself confronted with doubt and despair! I am sure that doubt, at times, and the bitterness that comes of it, can be terribly eloquent. To tell the truth, my lonely musings, before you came in, were eloquent enough, in their way. What do you know of anything but this strange, terrible world that surrounds you? How do you know that your faith is not a mere crazy castle in the air; one of those castles that we are called fools for building when we lodge them in this life?” “I don’t know it, any more than any one knows the contrary. But one’s religion is extremely ingenious in doing without knowledge.” “In such a world as this it certainly needs to be!” Rowland smiled. “What is your particular quarrel with this world?” “It ‘s a general quarrel. Nothing is true, or fixed, or permanent. We all seem to be playing with shadows more or less grotesque. It all comes over me here so dismally! The very atmosphere of this cold, deserted church seems to mock at one’s longing to believe in something. Who cares for it now? who comes to it? who takes it seriously? Poor stupid Assunta there gives in her adhesion in a jargon she does n’t understand, and you and I, proper, passionless tourists, come lounging in to rest from a walk. And yet the Catholic church was once the proudest institution in the world, and had quite its own way with men’s souls. When such a mighty structure as that turns out to have a flaw, what faith is one to put in one’s poor little views and philosophies? What is right and what is wrong? What is one really to care for? What is the proper rule of life? I am tired of trying to discover, and I suspect it ‘s not worth the trouble. Live as most amuses you!” “Your perplexities are so terribly comprehensive,” said Rowland, smiling, “that one hardly knows where to meet them first.” “I don’t care much for anything you can say, because it ‘s sure to be half-hearted. You are not in the least contented, yourself.” “How do you know that?” “Oh, I am an observer!” “No one is absolutely contented, I suppose, but I assure you I complain of nothing.” “So much the worse for your honesty. To begin with, you are in love.” “You would not have me complain of that!” “And it does n’t go well. There are grievous obstacles. So much I know! You need n’t protest; I ask no questions. You will tell no one--me least of all. Why does one never see you?”