"Yes," she said, "because a Protestant can be a Catholic
without knowing it."
"Oh--?" he puzzled, frowning.
"It's quite simple," she explained. "You can't be a Christian
unless you're a Catholic. But if you believe as much of
Christian truth as you've ever had a fair opportunity of
learning, and if you try to live in accordance with Christian
morals, you are a Catholic, you're a member of the Catholic
Church, whether you know it or not. You can't be deprived of
your birthright, you see."
"That seems rather broad," said Peter; "and one had always
heard that Catholicism was nothing if not narrow."
"How could it be Catholic if it were narrow?" asked she.
"However, if a Protestant uses his intelligence, and is
logical, he'll not remain an unconscious Catholic long. If he
studies the matter, and is logical, he'll wish to unite himself
to the Church in her visible body. Look at England. See how
logic is multiplying converts year by year."
"But it's the glory of Englishmen to be illogical," said Peter,
with a laugh. "Our capacity for not following premisses to
their logical consequences is the principal source of our
national greatness. So the bulk of the English are likely to
resist conversion for centuries to come--are they not? And
then, nowadays, one is so apt to be an indifferentist in
matters of religion--and Catholicism is so exacting. One
remains a Protestant from the love of ease."
"And from the desire, on the part of a good many Englishmen at
least, to sail in a boat of their own--not to get mixed up with
a lot of foreign publicans and sinners--no?" she suggested.
"Oh, of course, we're insular and we're Pharisaical," admitted
Peter.
"And as for one's indifference," she smiled, "that is most
probably due to one's youth and inexperience. One can't come
to close quarters with the realities of life--with sorrow, with
great joy, with temptation, with sin or with heroic virtue,
with death, with the birth of a new soul, with any of the
awful, wonderful realities of life--and continue to be an
indifferentist in matters of religion, do you think?"
"When one comes to close quarters with the awful, wonderful
realities of life, one has religious moments," he acknowledged.
"But they're generally rather fugitive, are n't they?"
"One can cultivate them--one can encourage them," she said.
"If you would care to know a good Catholic," she added, "my
niece, my little ward, Emilia is one. She wants to become a
Sister of Mercy, to spend her life nursing the poor."