On the Sundays of her early youth she had perused a story treating of an Unbeliever (always spelled with a capital U), and the punishments that were meted out to the daughter of light who was unequally yoked with him; and she was imbued with a strong conviction that these same punishments were destined to fall upon Elisabeth's head, should Elisabeth incline favourably to the (at present) hypothetical suit of the master of the Moat House.

Thus it happened that when Elisabeth came to the Herberts', full of girlish admiration for Alan Tremaine, Felicia did her best to ripen that admiration into love by abusing Alan in and out of season, and by endeavouring to prove that an attachment to him would be a soul-destroyer of the most irreparable completeness.
"It is no use talking to me about his goodness," she said; "nobody is good who isn't a Christian." "But he is good," persisted Elisabeth--"most tremendously good.

The poor people simply adore him, he does such a lot for them; and he couldn't have lovelier thoughts and higher ideals if he were a girl instead of a man.

There must be different ways of goodness, Felicia." "There are not different ways of goodness; mamma says there are not, and it is very wicked to believe that there are.

I am afraid you are not half as religious as you were at Fox How." "Yes, I am; but I have learned that true religion is a state of mind rather than a code of dogmas." Felicia looked uncomfortable.