"If I had been very miserable--had made a hideous mistake--and knew it--and somebody came along and offered to make me happy--give me a home--and care for me--I couldn't and I shouldn't resist!" "You would," he said, simply, "if God gave you strength." Nothing so intimate had yet been said between them. There was silence. That old, old connection between the passion of religion--which is in truth a great romanticism--and the passion of sex, made itself felt; but in its most poetic form. Marcia was thrillingly conscious of the debate in herself--of the voice which said, "Teach me, govern me, love me--be my adored master and friend!" and the voice which replied, "I should be his slave--I will not!" At last she said: "You have dismissed Mr. Betts?" He sighed. "He is going in a month. My father offered all we could. If--Mrs. Betts"--the words came out with effort--"would have separated from him we should have amply provided for her and her child. The Cloan Sisters would have watched over her. She could have lived near them, and Betts could have seen her from time to time--" "They refused?" "Absolutely. Betts wrote my father the fiercest letters. They were married, he said, married legally and honestly--and that was an end of it. As to Mrs. Betts's former history, no one had the smallest right to pry into it. He defied my father to dismiss him. My father--on his principles--had no choice but to do so. So then--your brother came on the scene!" "Of course--he was furious?" "What right has he to be furious?" said Newbury, quietly. "His principles may be what he pleases. But he must allow us ours. This is a free country." A certain haughtiness behind the gentle manner was very perceptible. Marcia kindled for her brother. "I suppose Corry would say, if the Church ruled us--as you wish--England wouldn't be free!" "That's his view. We have ours. No doubt he has the present majority with him. But why attack us personally--call us names--because of what we believe?" He spoke with vivacity, with wounded feeling. Marcia melted. "But every one knows," she murmured, "that Corry is mad--quite mad." And suddenly, impulsively, she put out her hand. "Don't blame us!" He took the hand in both his own, bent over and kissed it. "Don't let him set you against us!" She smiled and shook her head. Then by way of extricating herself and him from the moment of emotion--by way of preventing its going any further--she sprang to her feet. "Mother will be waiting lunch for us."