"After all," Rachael said presently, giving him a rueful glance, "what are the statistics? One marriage in twelve fails--fails openly, I mean--for of course there are hundreds that don't get that far. Sixty thousand last year!" "If those ARE the statistics," said the bishop warmly, "it is a disgrace to a Christian country!" "But you don't call this a Christian country?" Rachael said perversely. "It is SUPPOSEDLY so," the clergyman asserted. "Supposedly Christian," she mused, "and yet one marriage out of every twelve ends in divorce, and you Christians--well, you don't CUT us! We may not keep holy the Sabbath day, we may not honor our fathers and mothers, we may envy our neighbor's goods, yes, and his wife, if we like, but still--you don't refuse to come to our houses!" "I don't know you in this mood," said Bishop Thomas coldly. "Call it Neroism, or Commonsensism, or Modernism, or anything you like," Rachael said with sudden fire, "but while you go on calling what you profess Christianity, Bishop, you simply subscribe to an untruth. You know what our lives are, myself and Florence and Gardner and Clarence; is there a Commandment we don't break all day long and every day? Do we give our coats away, do we possess neither silver nor gold in our purses, do we love our neighbors? Why don't you denounce us? Why don't you shun the women in your parish who won't have children as murderers? Why don't you brand some of the men who come to your church--men whose business methods you know, and I know, and all the world knows--as thieves!" "And what would my branding them as murderers and thieves avail?" asked the bishop, actually a little pale now, and rising to face her as she rose. "Are we to judge our fellowmen?" "I'm not," Rachael said, suddenly weary, "but I should think you might. It would be at least refreshing to have you, or someone, demonstrate what Christianity is. It would be good for our souls. Instead," she added bitterly, "instead, you select one little thing here, and one little thing there, and putter, and tinker, and temporize, and gloss over, and build big churches, with mortgages and taxes and insurance to pay, in the name of Christianity! If I were little Annie Smith, down in the village here, I could get a divorce for twenty-five dollars, and you would never hear of it. But Clarence Breckenridge is a millionaire, and the Breckenridges have gone to your church for a hundred years, and so it's a scandal that must be averted if possible!"