"Than hear James preach," laughed the bishop. "I agree with you."
"I agree with her," said David, emphatically. "It ought to be stopped if—"
"If it ought to be, it will be. What do you think she said to me about it when I went to reason with her? 'If Christ can forgive and stand such as he, I can. It is laid on my soul to do this.' I had no more to say."
"That is one point of view, but we mustn't lose sight of the practical, either. To be his wife and bear his children—I call it a waste, a—"
"Yes, yes. So it is." And what more could the bishop say? After a little, he added, "But still we must not forget that he, too, is a human soul and has a value as great as hers."
"According to your viewpoint, but not to mine—not to mine. If a man is enslaved to his own appetites, he has no right to enslave another to them."
The following day David took himself back to his hermitage, setting aside all persuasions to remain.
"Don't make a recluse of yourself," begged the bishop's wife. "The amenities of life can't always be dispensed with, and we need you, James and I, you and your music."