“Poor Bernal!  Yet he made me believe, though he seemed to believe in nothing himself.  He makes me believe now.  He calls to me, Aunt Bell—­or is it myself calling to him that I hear?

“And blasphemy—­even the word is ridiculous, Aunt Bell.  I was at the day-nursery yesterday when all those babies were brought in to their dinner.  They are strictly forbidden to coo or to make any noise, and they really behaved finely for two-and three-year-olds—­though I did see one outlaw reach over before the signal was given and lovingly pat the big fat cookie beside its plate—­thinking its insubordination would be overlooked—­but, Aunt Bell, do you suppose one of those fifty-two babies could blaspheme you?”

“Don’t be silly!”

“But can you imagine one of them capable of any disrespect to you that would merit—­say, burning or something severe like that?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, don’t you really believe that God is farther beyond you or me or the foolish boy that wrote this, than we are beyond those babies—­with a greater, bigger point of view, a fuller love?  Imagine the God that made everything—­the worlds and birds and flowers and butterflies and babies and mountains—­imagine him feeling insulted because one of his wretched little John Smiths or Bernal Linfords babbles little human words about him, or even worries his poor little human heart with doubts of His existence!”

“My child, yours is but a finite mind, unable to limit or define the Infinite.  What is it, anyway—­is it Christian Science taking hold of you, or that chap who preaches that they have the Messiah re-incarnated and now living in Syria—­Babbists, aren’t they—­or is it theosophy—­or are you simply dissatisfied with Allan?” A sudden shrewd glance from Aunt Bell’s baby-blue eyes went with this last.

Nancy laughed, then grew serious.  “I think the last is it, Aunt Bell.  A woman seems to doubt God and everything else after she begins to doubt the husband she has loved.  Really, I find myself questioning everything—­every moral standard.”

“Nance, you are an ungrateful woman to speak like that of Allan!”

“I never should have done it, dear, if you hadn’t made me believe you knew.  I should have thought it out all by myself, and then acted, if I found I could with any conscience.”

“Eh?  Mercy!  You couldn’t.  The idea! And there’s Allan, now.  Come!”

The Doctor was on the threshold.  “So here you are!  Well, I’ve just sent Mrs. Eversley away in tears.”

He dropped into an arm-chair with a little half-humorous moan of fatigue.

“It’s a relief, sometimes, to know you can relax and let your whole weight absolutely down on to the broad earth!” he declared.

“Mrs. Eversley?” suggested Aunt Bell.

“Well, the short of it is, she told me her woes and begged me to give my sanction to her securing a divorce!”