“But the Bible isn’t final.  There’s lots of things we know more about than the people who wrote it.  Look at all yon nonsense they put in about Adam and Eve because they didn’t know about evolution.  That alone shows it’s absurd to rely solely on the Bible....”

She looked round for signs of the others’ approval.  She knew that Richard agreed with her, for among his Christmas presents to her had been Huxley’s Essays, and when he had talked to her of science she had seen that research after that truth was to him a shining mystic way which he would have declared led to God had he not been more reverent than Church men are, and feared to use that name lest it were not sacred enough for the ultimate sacredness.  But to her amazement he kept his eyes on the crumbs which he was picking up from the tablecloth, and through his parted lips there sounded the faintest click of exasperation.  She looked in wonder at Marion, and found her eyes also downcast and her forefinger tapping on her chin as if she were seeking for some expedient to stop this dangerous chatter.  Ellen despised them both.  They had been terribly exercised at the thought that Roger was going to preach in the streets, but they did not care at all that he was delivered over to error.  She looked at him sympathetically over the table, feeling that since these horrid people with whom she had got entangled did not like him, he might be quite nice, and found him exchanging a long, peculiar glance with Poppy, which was followed on both sides by a slow, meaning nod.

He looked in front of him again and his round eyes vacillated between Richard and Ellen, growing rounder at each roll.  Presently he swallowed a lump in his throat and addressed himself to her.  “Ah, you’re an unbeliever,” he said.  “Well, Captain Sampson says there’s always a reason for it if people can’t believe.”  He moistened his lips and panted the words out at her.  “If you’ve been doing anything that’s wrong—­”

A sob prevented him.  “Oh, I can’t go and spoil this lovely tea, even if I ought to for Jesus’ sake!” he cried.  “We’re all so happy, I can’t bear to break it up by telling you what it’s my duty to do!  Poppy, doesn’t mother have everything nice?  I’ve often thought of this tea-table when I’ve been eating at places where they did things, roughish.  Look at the flowers.  Mother always has flowers on the table, even when it’s winter.  Jesus wouldn’t expect me to break this up.”  His face became transfused with light.  “I believe Jesus loves everything that’s done nicely, whether it’s a good deed or bread-and-butter cut nice and thin.  That’s why,” he mourned, so wistfully that all of them save the impassive woman in uniform made a kind, friendly bending towards him, “I mind not to be able to do anything really well.  But Jesus loves me all the same.  He loves me whatever I’m like!” His brow clouded.  “But because He loves me I owe Him a debt.  I ought to preach Him wherever I am, in and out of season.  But I can’t spoil this.  Aren’t we all happy, sitting here?  I’ll tell you what.  They’ve asked me to take the Saturday evening service to-night because the Commandant and the two under him are all down with influenza.  If you’ll come and hear me I’ll tell you what Jesus wants you to hear.  Oh, mother, Richard, do, do come!”