aren't we, Dolly? Wait till you hear us after dinner discussing with the Holy Father about the existence of angels, and the Apostolic Succession, and the priority of Persons in the Blessed Trinity. Dorothy and I got together and decided it was up to us to mortify our sinful flesh by holding our tongues this summer. Even father used to do that, most of the time, so far as religion is concerned; and it was harder for him than it is for us."
"How was that?"
"Oh, father, you know, doesn't believe in anything. He calls himself an 'old Voltairean,' and he reads Herbert Spencer and Nietzsche and Henry Adams. But he really doesn't believe in anything but chaos and the 'struggle for survival' and the 'degradation of energy.' We believe in plenty of things."
"Do you really!" I exclaimed, genuinely delighted. "That's good. Tell me what they are."
"Well, in religious matters we agree with father as little as with mother. He is always talking about 'jungle ethics' and 'the law of survival.' He thinks he is the only realist. But that is old stuff, and it doesn't sound good to us. We don't fall for the cave-man line of aristocracy that
