She was sitting on the little sofa, and she put her feet up, lay and
listened with her eyes shut. There was a vibration in Mr Palmer's
voice not perceptible during his vision of the crown of life and of
fidelity to death.

'Are you going to stay over Sunday?' inquired Mrs Hopgood.

'I am not quite sure; I ought to be back on Sunday evening. My
father likes me to be at home on that day.'

'Is there not a Mr Maurice who is a friend of your father?'

'Oh, yes, a great friend.'

'He is not High Church nor Low Church?'

'No, not exactly.'

'What is he, then? What does he believe?'

'Well, I can hardly say; he does not believe that anybody will be
burnt in a brimstone lake for ever.'

'That is what he does not believe,' interposed Clara.

'He believes that Socrates and the great Greeks and Romans who acted
up to the light that was within them were not sent to hell. I think
that is glorious, don't you?'

'Yes, but that also is something he does not believe. What is there