"He has known him for fifteen years," remarked Mrs. Baxter.
"Perhaps it's Laurie that doesn't understand him then," said Maggie
tranquilly.
"I daresay."
"And--and what do you think Mr. Rymer will be able to do?" asked the
girl.
"Just settle the boy.... I don't think Laurie's very happy. Not that I
would willingly disturb his mind again; I don't mean that, my dear. I
quite understand that your religion is just the one for certain
temperaments, and Laurie's is one of them; but a few helpful words
sometimes--" Mrs. Baxter left it at an aposiopesis, a form of speech
she was fond of.
There was a grain of truth, Maggie thought, in the old lady's hints,
and she helped herself in silence to marmalade. Laurie's letters,
which she usually read, did not refer much to religion, or to the
Brompton Oratory, as his custom had been at first. She tried to make
up her mind that this was a healthy sign; that it showed that Laurie
was settling down from that slight feverishness of zeal that seemed
the inevitable atmosphere of most converts. Maggie found converts a
little trying now and then; they would talk so much about facts,
certainly undisputed, and for that very reason not to be talked
about.
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