"
I flatter myself that even De Casseres would have been pleased with
the way I repeated his argument. And when I had concluded it, Miss
West promptly demanded if the realists might not be fooled by their
own phrases as often and as completely as were the poor common
mortals with the vital lies they never questioned.
And there we were. An ordinary young woman, who had never vexed her
brains with ultimate problems, hears such things stated for the first
time, and immediately, and with a laugh, sweeps them all away. I
doubt not that De Casseres would have agreed with her.
"Do you believe in God?" I asked rather abruptly. She dropped her
sewing into her lap, looked at me meditatively, then gazed on and
away across the flashing sea and up into the azure dome of sky. And
finally, with true feminine evasion, she replied:
"My father does."
"But you?" I insisted.
"I really don't know. I don't bother my head about such things. I
used to when I was a little girl. And yet . . . yes, surely I
believe in God. At times, when I am not thinking about it at all, I
am very sure, and my faith that all is well is just as strong as the
faith of your Jewish friend in the phrases of the philosophers.
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