“And is that all? Sceptical or something! Capital, Alice!” cried she, with a bright laugh. “You have hit them off to a nicety. Sceptical or something,—that’s just it. You see, my dear, when the beard begins to sprout on a youth’s chin, he fancies that it is time he had opinions of his own. At this period he begins to sneer at the ‘fiery furnace’ story, and discovers that whales, though their mouths be large, have small throats, and could never have swallowed Jonah. _His_ throat, at any rate, is too small to swallow such musty tales,—leave that to the old women! Sceptical or something! Excellent, excellent, Alice! Ah, that merry tongue of yours!” “I am delighted that you take so philosophical a view of the case,” said Alice, much taken aback at this unexpected praise of her wit. She might have added that she was amazed. How often do those we know best utterly confound us in this way! Mrs. Rolfe was what some lukewarm people called fanatically pious; and Alice had been looking forward with dread to the scene that poor Mary must have with her when she learned that her daughter had given her heart to a sceptic (or something). Strange! it was the very energy of this fanaticism which wrought the result which so surprised Alice. It is possible for convictions to be so strong as to inspire a merry incredulity touching the honesty of opposing beliefs. “Why, of course,” rejoined Mrs. Rolfe, smiling complacently. (It was the word philosophical that did the business.) “The fact is, my dear, there _are_ no infidels. It is all the merest affectation. Most young men pass through an attack of scepticism, just as, earlier in life, teething must be gone through with. It is a cheap mode of earning a reputation for brains. With girls, this striving to be brilliant takes a different shape. Many young women cultivate sarcasm for a year or so after leaving school, not having seen enough of mankind to know that a satirical turn infallibly indicates the combination of a bad heart with an empty head. But people of experience learn to pardon these foibles of youth. The fact is, Alice,” added Mrs. Rolfe, smiling, “I know nothing in life more deliciously comic than a young graduate posing as a ‘thinker.’ Of course, if they are loud-mouthed—” “That, at least, he is not.” “Of course not, of course not; since I hear he is a gentleman. But how, pray, does he show that he is a sceptic, or something? (Capital phrase, upon my word, Alice!) How do you know it?” “During the whole time that he has been at Elmington he has never once—I am afraid it is more serious than you imagine—” “Go on!” “Never once put his foot inside the church.” “Impossible!” cried Mrs. Rolfe. “Why, ’tisn’t genteel!” “Never _once_!” “And his apology?” “The Don apologizing!” broke in Alice, with a little laugh. “You don’t know him!”