"As ALMOST a clergyman's
daughter I must say that if there is one tiling God didn't do, it
was to fill the world with beautiful people and things as if it
was only to be happy in. It was made to-to try us by suffering
and-that sort of thing. It's a-a-what d'ye call it? Something
beginning with P."
"Probation," suggested Coombe regarding her with an expression of
speculative interest. Her airy bringing forth of her glib time-worn
little scraps of orthodoxy--as one who fished them out of a bag of
long-discarded remnants of rubbish--was so true to type that it
almost fascinated him for a moment.
"Yes. That's it--probation," she answered. "I knew it began with
a P. It means 'thorny paths' and 'seas of blood' and, if you are
religious, you 'tread them with bleeding feet--' or swim them as
the people do in hymns. And you praise and glorify all the time
you're doing it. Of course, I'm not religious myself and I can't
say I think it's pleasant--but I do KNOW! Every body beautiful
and perfect indeed! That's not religion--it's being irreligious.
Good gracious, think of the cripples and lepers and hunchbacks!"
"And the idea is that God made them all--by way of entertaining
himself?" he put it to her quietly.
"Well, who else did?" said Feather cheerfully.
"I don't know," he said. "Certain things I heard Mrs. Muir say
suggested to one that it might be interesting to think it out.
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