"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."




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