One of four gates stands open to us:

To deny the existence of God, and say we can do without him.

To acknowledge his existence, but say he is not good and act as true men resisting a tyrant.

To say “I wish there were a God,” and be miserable because there is none.

Or to say there must be a God and he must be perfect in goodness or he could not exist, and then give ourselves up to him heart and soul and hands and history.

But what was Wingfold to do about Mrs. Wylder? Was he to allow the simple sheep of his flock to think him afraid of the squire’s lady? or was he to venture an uproar in the church on a Sunday morning? He and his wife often talked the thing over but had arrived at no conclusion. He now told her everything that had happened.

“Isn’t it time to do something?” she said.

“Indeed, I think so—but what?” he answered.

Helen was silent a moment.

“Couldn’t you preach at her?” she said with a little laugh, an odd mingling of doubt and merriment.

“I have always thought that mean,” he said. “I have never done it intentionally. There was that one time,” he said with a smile, “when you thought I was preaching to you.”

“I didn’t know whether to love you or hate you!” laughed Helen. “But this case is unique. The wrong is done in the very eyes of the congregation, for the sake of its being seen. If you said something, you would not be the assailant. You would but accept, not give, the challenge. She has been pitting her position in the pew against yours in the pulpit for too long. She flaunts her novel in your face. The congregation can’t help but think about her and her yellow novel instead of the things you are saying to them. For the sake of the work given you, for the sake of your influence with the people, you must do something.”

“It is God she defies, not me.”

“I think she defies you to say an honest word on his behalf. Your silence must seem to her an acknowledgment that she is right.”

“That cannot be, after what I said to her in her own house.”

“Then at least she must think that either you have no authority to drive from the little temple one of the cows of Bashan, or are afraid of her horns.”

“Quite right, Nelly!” cried the rector. “You are quite right. Only you don’t give me a hint what to do!”

“Am I not saying as plain as I can that you must preach at her?”

“Hmm! I didn’t expect that of you!”

“A public scandal requires public attention. She has put herself before the people. She is brazen and must be treated as brazen—set in the full glare of opinion. It is all very well to make such a clamour about her boy,” continued his wife, “but everyone knows that she quarrelled with him dreadfully—that for days at a time they would be cat and dog with each other. Her animal instinct lasted it out, and she did not come to hate him. But I can’t help thinking it must have been in a great measure because her husband favoured the other that she took up this one with such passion. I have been told she would abuse him in language not fit to repeat, the little wretch answering her back, and choking with rage that he could not tear her.”