"There are some people, Muriel, who think that real religion has been ruined by ecclesiastical bigotry. Personally I have never been able to accept a man-made religion. You see, dear, I have been so much in the world. I have suffered so many disappointments and disillusionments that the notion of a man standing between myself and the hereafter is repugnant." "My dear mother, if you will forgive me for saying so, you are really talking nonsense. All your life you have been accustomed to rely upon yourself instead of upon God. You cannot expect to receive faith if you do not ask for it." "Auto-suggestion!" Mary exclaimed. "When I receive a direct communication from the world of spirits, I am told it is auto-suggestion. But surely to receive a belief that you expect to receive can only be called auto-suggestion. Mind, I do not say that what you believe is not true. I am perfectly sure in any case that it is highly suitable for you to believe it, for I have never seen you looking better. Nothing could have given me greater delight than to behold your happiness in the life to which you have dedicated yourself. I am only trying to suggest that there may be other ways of approaching the unseen and, however inadequately, of solving the great problem that lies before us all, a problem which I am likely to solve, I hope, many years before you. I hold no brief for spiritualism. In fact, the more I see of its practice the less I am attracted to it. I envy you your faith, dear child. I envy and respect it. And I've greatly enjoyed my little visit." "It is very peaceful down here," Muriel agreed with a smile. "And old age will have no terrors for you," her mother murmured. "Because I understand so well that for you old age will simply seem a slow and tranquil drawing nearer to God. Happy little girl of mine!" "Yes, I am happy." "And that makes me happy, for it helps me to realize that so far as my children are concerned I have not been a complete failure. I wish I could stay here longer, but I've left my little cat in London with only my maid to look after her, and I think I ought to be getting back." Mary perceived that an obligation to a cat was something utterly incomprehensible to her daughter, and when she kissed her good-by, kissed those cheeks cold and faintly flushed like the petals of a Christmas rose, she felt that she was parting from a creature more remote than either of her dead sons. "Flesh of my flesh," Mary thought. "And yet my little cat is nearer to me. Those are the kind of puzzles that really do make human life a riddle." Mary remembered how sometimes her grandmother had tried to draw near to herself, because the two of them were all that was left of a family.