“Not at all,” the Doctor answered quickly.  “I assure you I have many friends among that class of people whom I respect and esteem; but since you have pressed me to continue this conversation I must frankly confess to you that my esteem is not based on the fact that they are called Christians.  I—­but, Miss Ried, this is entirely unlike, and beneath me, to interfere with and shake your innocent, trusting faith.  I would not do it for the world.”

Sadie interrupted him with an impatient shake of her head.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Dr. Douglass, if you can help it.  I don’t feel innocent at all, just now at least, and I have no particular faith to shake; if I had I hope you would not consider it such a flimsy material as to be shaken by any thing which you have said as yet.  I certainly have heard no arguments.  Occasionally I think of these matters, and I have been surprised, and not a little puzzled, to note the strange inconsistency existing between the profession and practice of these people.  If you have any explanation I should like to hear it; that is all.”

Clearly this man must use at least the semblance of sense if he were going to continue the conversation.  His answer was grave and guarded.

“I have offered no arguments, nor do I mean to.  I was apologizing for having touched upon this matter at all.  I am unfortunate in my belief, or rather disbelief; but it is no part of my intention to press it upon others.  I incline to the opinion that there are some very good, nice, pleasant people in the world, whom the accidents of birth and education have taught to believe that they are aided in this goodness and pleasantness by a more than human power, and this belief rather helps than otherwise to mature their naturally sweet, pure lives.  My explanation of their seeming inconsistencies is, that they have never realized the full moral force of the rules which they profess to follow.  I divide the world into two distinct classes—­the so-called Christian world, I mean.  Those whom I have just named constitute one class, and the other is composed of unmitigated hypocrites.  Now my friend, I have talked longer on this subject than I like, or than I ought.  I beg you will forget all I have said, and give me some music to close the scene.”

Sadie laughed, and ran her fingers lightly over the keys; but she asked: 

“In which class do you place your brother in the profession, Doctor?”

Dr. Douglass drew his shoulder into a very slight though expressive shrug, as he answered.

“It is exceedingly proper, and also rather rare, for a physician to be eminent not only for skill but piety, and my brother practitioner is a wise and wary man, who—­” and here he paused abruptly—­“Miss Ried,” he added after a moment, in an entirely changed tone:  “Which of us is at fault to-night, you or myself, that I seem bent on making uncharitable remarks?  I really did not imagine myself so totally depraved.  And to be serious, I am very sorry that this style of conversation was ever commenced.  I did not intend it.  I do not believe in interfering with the beliefs, or controverting the opinions of others.”