“Upon my word, I think you’ve put it rather well, Evelyn,” said Eleanor, admiringly.

“In spite of personalities,” added Mr. Bridges.

“I don’t see the use of fussing about it,” proclaimed Laureston Grey, who was the richest and sprucest of the three sons-in-law.  “Why can’t we let well enough alone?”

“Because it isn’t well enough,” Evelyn replied.  “I want the real thing or nothing.  I go to church once a month, to please mother.  It doesn’t do me any good.  And I don’t see what good it does you and Lucy to go every Sunday.  You never think of it when you’re out at dinners and dances during the week.  And besides,” she added, with the arrogance of modern youth, “you and Lucy are both intellectually lazy.”

“I like that from you, Evelyn,” her sister flared up.

“You never read anything except the sporting columns and the annual rules of tennis and golf and polo.”

“Must everything be reduced to terms?” Mrs. Waring gently lamented.  “Why can’t we, as Laury suggests, just continue to trust?”

“They are the more fortunate, perhaps, who can, mother,” George Bridges answered, with more of feeling in his voice than he was wont to show.  “Unhappily, truth does not come that way.  If Roger Bacon and Galileo and Newton and Darwin and Harvey and the others had ‘just trusted,’ the world’s knowledge would still remain as stationary as it was during the thousand-odd years the hierarchy of the Church was supreme, when theology was history, philosophy, and science rolled into one.  If God had not meant man to know something of his origin differing from the account in Genesis, he would not have given us Darwin and his successors.  Practically every great discovery since the Revival we owe to men who, by their very desire for truth, were forced into opposition to the tremendous power of the Church, which always insisted that people should ‘just trust,’ and take the mixture of cosmogony and Greek philosophy, tradition and fable, paganism, Judaic sacerdotalism, and temporal power wrongly called spiritual dealt out by this same Church as the last word on science, philosophy, history, metaphysics, and government.”

“Stop!” cried Eleanor.  “You make me dizzy.”

“Nearly all the pioneers to whom we owe our age of comparative enlightenment were heretics,” George persisted.  “And if they could have been headed off, or burned, most of us would still be living in mud caves at the foot of the cliff on which stood the nobleman’s castle; and kings would still be kings by divine decree, scientists—­if there were any —­workers in the black art, and every phenomenon we failed to understand, a miracle.”

“I choose the United States of America,” ejaculated Evelyn.

“I gather, George,” said Phil Goodrich, “that you don’t believe in miracles.”

“Miracles are becoming suspiciously fewer and fewer.  Once, an eclipse of the sun was enough to throw men on their knees because they thought it supernatural.  If they were logical they’d kneel today because it has been found natural.  Only the inexplicable phenomena are miracles; and after a while—­if the theologians will only permit us to finish the job —­there won’t be any inexplicable phenomena.  Mystery, as I believe William James puts it may be called the more-to-be-known.”