Pitt could think of nothing to say which did not sound foolish. He could hardly imagine Ramsay Parmenter’s feelings when his son had broken such news to him. The history of the schism between the two churches-the centuries of blood, persecution, proscription and even martyrdom-was part of the fabric of the nation. Only a few months before-the past October, to be exact-he had closely observed Irish politics, rooted in passionate hatred between the two religions. Protestantism was immeasurably more profoundly and intensely critical, whether one agreed with those ethics or not.

“I see,” he said grimly. “It is hardly surprising you found Miss Bellwood’s atheism offensive.”

“I was sorry for her.” Again Mallory corrected him. “It is a very sad thing for a human being to be so lost as to believe there is no God. It destroys the foundation of morality.”

He was lying. It was in the sharpness of his voice, the quick bright anger in his eyes, the speed with which he had replied. Whatever he had felt for Unity Bellwood, it was not pity. Either he wished Pitt to think it was or he needed to believe it himself. Perhaps he did not think a candidate for the priesthood should feel personal anger or resentment, especially towards someone who was dead. Pitt did not want to argue about the foundation of morality, although a rebuttal rose to his tongue. The number of men and women whose morality was founded in love of man rather than love of God was legion. But there was something closed in Mallory Parmenter’s face which made the idea of reasoning on the subject pointless. It was a conviction of the heart rather than the mind.

“Are you saying, as kindly as possible, that Miss Bellwood’s morality was questionable?” Pitt asked mildly.

Mallory was taken aback. He had not expected to have to reply. Now he did not know what to say.