Page 99 of 296 CHAPTER XIV - Night and Day

As the door shut for the second time, she sank on to the floor in front of the fire, trying, now that their bodies were not there to distract her, to piece together her impressions of them as a whole. And, though priding herself, with all other men and women, upon an infallible eye for character, she could not feel at all certain that she knew what motives inspired Katharine Hilbery in life. There was something that carried her on smoothly, out of reach--something, yes, but what?--something that reminded Mary of Ralph. Oddly enough, he gave her the same feeling, too, and with him, too, she felt baffled. Oddly enough, for no two people, she hastily concluded, were more unlike. And yet both had this hidden impulse, this incalculable force --this thing they cared for and didn't talk about--oh, what was it?

		"We will not consider as a miracle, any experience that we might have, whatever it might be, if beforehand we hold a philosophy that excludes the supernatural." Clive Staples Lewis