He left her to imply her differences in sensibility and response from
the hardier male.

Her hesitation marked the full gravity of her reply. "It's just that,"
she said. "One feels--" She considered it further. "As if we were living
in a kind of magic world--not really real. Out there--" she glanced
over her shoulder at the drawn blind that hid the night. "One meets with
different sorts of minds and different--atmospheres. All this is very
beautiful. I've had the most wonderful home. But there's a sort of
feeling as though it couldn't really go on, as though all these strikes
and doubts and questionings--"

She stopped short at questionings, for the thing was said.

The bishop took her meaning gallantly and honestly.

"The church of Christ, little Norah, is built upon a rock."

She made no answer. She moved her head very slightly so that he could
not see her face, and remained sitting rather stiffly and awkwardly with
her eyes upon the fire.

Her silence was the third and greatest blow the bishop received that
day....

It seemed very long indeed before either of them spoke. At last he said:
"We must talk about these things again, Norah, when we are less tired
and have more time.... You have been reading books.... When Caxton set
up his printing-press he thrust a new power between church and disciple
and father and child.... And I am tired. We must talk it over a little