And Mr. Linton continued smiling.

“You may gather that I wrote to you in order that you may help me to make my soul.  What a capital phrase!  I didn’t do that, Mr. Holland.  I have never been sanguine about man and his soul.  I know that it doesn’t matter much to God what a man thinks about himself or his soul.  It really doesn’t matter much whether he believes or not that he has a soul:  God is the Principle of Right—­the Fountain of Justice, and I’m willing to trust myself to God.”

“That is true religion, Mr. Linton,” said the clergyman.

“But I agree with those people who think that the world cannot get on without a Church.  Now, I am sanguine enough to believe that a Church founded on your ideas of what is orthodox would be the means of doing a great deal of good.  It would do a great deal of good to my wife, to start with.  She does not know that she is so soon to be a widow.  Were she to know, the last months of my life would be miserable to both of us.  I have noticed with some pain, or should I say amusement? perhaps that word would be the better—­I have noticed, I say, that her life is one of complete aimlessness, and that, therefore, she is tempted to think too much about herself.  She is also tempted to have longings for—­well, for temptation.  Ah, she is a woman and temptation is in the way of women. Qui parle d’amour, fait l’amour:  temptation comes to the woman who thinks about being tempted.  Now, I want to give her something to think about that shall lead her out of the thoughts of temptation which I suppose come naturally to a daughter of Eve—­the first woman who thought about temptation and was therefore tempted.  My wife is a perfectly good woman, and you will be surprised to find out when I am dead how fond of me she was—­she will be the most surprised of all.  But she is a woman.  If she were not so much of a woman I don’t suppose I should ever have cared so much for her as I do.  I cared so much for her, Mr. Holland, that I remained away from her in Paris for three months so that I might school myself to my fate, making no sign that would lead her to suspect the truth.  Why should she have six months’ additional misery?  I have strayed.  The Church.  I want to give my wife an aim in life; to make her feel that she is doing something worthy—­to keep her from thinking of less worthy things.  Now, I think you will agree with me that there is nothing women are really so fond of as a Church of some sort.  To be devout is as much a part of a woman’s disposition as to love—­the passion of devoutness sometimes takes the place of the passion of love in her nature.  Now, I want to give her this idea of a Church to work out when I am dead.  I want you to carry out as joint trustee with her your theories in regard to the ritual, the art, the sermon; and for this purpose I should of course provide an ample endowment—­say three or four thousand a year; anything you may suggest:  I shall leave a great deal of money behind me.”