ll my life for having done so."

"Impossible. You would either redeem your sense of life's value by a new
belief, or you would die."

"Then you think a man can do as he pleases and maintain his
self-respect, his personal integrity?"

"He will find some way to make himself feel worth while, or he will
cease to be."

"You think that a criminal, or perhaps better, a person abandoned to
vice, feels justified?"

"Yes. He creates a belief by which his abandonment is not destructive to
himself, or he is converted, which is simply a convulsion of nature for
the same end, to preserve his life and make it seem valuable to him."

"Could you, for instance, murder a man, and do it believing that
afterward you would somehow make it seem right, or at least so necessary
that you would feel as self-respecting and sin-free as before?" Philip
was speaking earnestly.

"I should not do so unless I were forced to it, but if I were, I know
that I would somehow reconstruct my mental life so that I would still
feel existence worth the price."

Claire leaned forward. "Lawrence," she said jestingly, "you have swept
away the bulwark of the home, made infidelity easy, and numberless
separated families inevitable with your bold, bad talk. Aren't you sorry
for all those tragedies?"

He laughed. "Very," he said, "though it was watching such proceedings
take place so frequently that led me to accept my theory. Think of the
men and women who are unfaithful, who leave their wedded partner for
another, and still find life worth while."

"But that is their failure to live true to their principles," said
Philip. "It is commonly called sin, my friend."

"It may be, according to their light, but they generally get a new light
afterward. You see, I do not believe that God joins men and women. I am
persuaded that a very natural physical desire does so, and it doesn't
follow that the first is the only or best union."

"My husband would simply dread me if I held your view, and I should feel
very wary if I were your wife, Lawrence," remarked Claire.

That was the central point in the whole discussion, though none of them
were aware of it. Vaguely they felt that they were groping their way
toward the future, but they did not allow the feeling to reach a
conscious state, and Philip laughingly broke up the talk.

"Here we are," he said, yawning, "the fire is making us all sleepy,
we're talking foolishness, and we need exercise. Why not get it? I thin