And it was only by chance that, lifting her eyes absently for a moment, she found that Rita had laid aside her book and was looking at her intently.
"Hello, dear!" she said, indolently humorous.
Rita said: "You read your Bible a good deal, don't you ?" "Parts of it." "The parts you believe ?" "Yes; and the parts that I can't believe." "What parts can't you believe ?" Valerie laughed: "Oh, the unfair parts--the cruel parts, the inconsistent parts." "What about faith ?" "Faith is a matter of temperament, dear." "Haven't you any ?" "Yes, in all things good." "Then you have faith in yourself that you are capable of deciding what is good and worthy of belief in the Scriptures, and what is unworthy ?" [Illustration: "It was a large, thick, dark book, and weighed nearly four pounds."] "It must be that way.

I am intelligent.

One must decide for one's self what is fair and what is unfair; what is cruel and what is merciful and kind.

Intelligence must always evolve its own religion; sin is only an unfaithfulness to what one really believes." "What _do_ you believe, Valerie ?" "About what, dear ?" "Love." "Loving a man ?" "Yes." "You know what my creed is--that love must be utterly unselfish to be pure--to be love at all." "One must not think of one's self," murmured Rita, absently.
"I don't mean that.

I mean that one must not hesitate to sacrifice one's self when the happiness or welfare of the other is in the balance." "Yes.