“I am delighted. Life is dreadfully dull here, with nothing to do.”
“Come to the parlor, and I will give you a cup of tea, and read you cousin Phyllis’s letter.”
The squire had never thought of asking Elizabeth why she supposed her cousins to be Methodists. Antony seized at once upon the point in the letter which regarded it.
“They are sailing with Bishop Elliott, and will remain until September, in order to allow the Bishop to attend Conference; what does that mean, Elizabeth?”
“I suppose it means they are Methodists.”
The young man was silent a moment, and then he replied, emphatically, “I am very glad of it.”
“How can you say so, Antony? And there is the rector, and the Elthams—”
“I was thinking of the Hallams. After a thousand years of stagnation one ought to welcome a ripple of life. A Methodist isn’t asleep. I have often felt inclined to drop into their chapel as I passed it. I wonder how it would feel to be awake soul and body at once!”
“Antony, you ought not to talk so recklessly. Some people might imagine you meant what you said. You know very well that the thousand years of ‘stagnation,’ as you call it, of the Hallams, is a most respectable thing.”
“Very respectable indeed! That is all women think about—born conservatives every one of them—‘dyed in the wool,’ as a Bradford man would say.”