"It is," he declared, wondering whether this was a random shot on her part or one of the flashes of penetration with which she sometimes surprised him.
"Your advice is good."
"I believe so," responded Sylvia. "If a thing pleases you, don't try to find out too much about it. That's the way to disappointment."
She was a little astonished at his reply.
"Perhaps it's a deserved penalty. One should respect a beautiful mystery—unquestioning faith is a power. It reacts upon its object as well as upon its possessor."
"Even if it's mistaken?"
"It couldn't be altogether so," Bland objected. "Nothing that was unworthy could inspire real devotion."
"All this is far too serious," said Sylvia, petulantly; for her companion's moralizing had awakened a train of unpleasant reflections.
She did not think unquestioning faith was common, but she knew of one man who was endowed with it, and he was toiling for her sake on the desolate western prairie. Once or twice his belief in her had roused angry compunction, and she had revealed the more unfavorable aspects of her character, but he had refused to see them.
"Then what shall we talk about?" Bland inquired.