carcely mentioned at all. But in that little room, in the
presence of those dear familiar people, those great horizons of life
had vanished. The room with its folding doors had fixed the scale.
The wallpaper had smothered the Kingdom of God; he had been, he felt,
domestic; it had been an after-supper talk. He had been put out, too, by
the mention of Lady Sunderbund and the case of Chasters....

In his study he consoled himself for this diminution of his intention.
It had taken him five years, he reflected, to get to his present real
sense of God's presence and to his personal subordination to God's
purpose. It had been a little absurd, he perceived, to expect these
girls to leap at once to a complete understanding of the halting hints,
the allusive indications of the thoughts that now possessed his soul. He
tried like some maiden speaker to recall exactly what it was he had said
and what it was he had forgotten to say.... This was merely a beginning,
merely a beginning.

After the girls had gone to bed, Lady Ella came to him and she was
glowing and tender; she was in love again as she had not been since the
shadow had first fallen between them. "I was so glad you spoke to them,"
she said. "They had been puzzled. But they are dear loyal girls."

He tried to tell her rather more plainly what he felt about the whole
question of religion in their lives, but eloquence had departed from
him.

"You see, Ella, life cannot get out of tragedy--and sordid
tragedy--until we bring about the Kingdom of God. It's no unreality that
has made me come out of the church."

"No, dear. No," she said soothingly and reassuringly. "With all these
mere boys going to the most dreadful deaths in the trenches, with death,
hardship and separation running amok in the world--"

"One has to do something," she agreed.

"I know, dear," he said, "that all this year of doubt and change has
been a dreadful year for you."

"It was stupid of me," she said, "but I have been so unhappy. It's
over now--but I was wretched. And there was nothing I could say....
I prayed.... It isn't the poverty I feared ever, but the disgrace.
Now--I'm happy. I'm happy again.

"But how far do you come with me?"

"I'm with you."

"But," he said, "you are still a churchwoman?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't mind."

He stared at her.

"But I thought always that was what hurt you most, my breach with the
church."

"Things are so different now," she said.

He