But I won't miss my walk with you," she added, "for I will come and meet you every Wednesday evening, and we'll come home together." John had risen as she talked, and stood leaning against the mantel, his face hidden by his hand.

Her lightly spoken words had come with such a shock, the blood leaped back to his heart, and for a moment he could not speak.

He had never allowed himself to realize that her indifference to doctrine was positive unbelief; had his neglect encouraged her ignorance to grow into this?
At last he said very gently, "But, dearest, I believe in hell." "I know it," she answered, no longer carelessly, but still smiling, "but never mind.

I mean, it does not make any difference to me what you believe.

I wouldn't care if you were a Mohammedan, John, if it helped you to be good and happy.