"Very well; then I will be plain. We have now known each other for nearly a year, Miss Mackenzie."
"A year, is it? No, not a year. This is the beginning of June, and I did not come here till the end of last August. It's about nine months, Mr Maguire."
"Very well; nine months. Nine months may be as nothing in an acquaintance, or it may lead to the closest friendship."
"I don't know that we have met so very often. You have the parish to attend to, Mr Maguire."
"Of course I have—or rather I had, for I have left Mr Stumfold."
"Left Mr Stumfold! Why, I heard you preach yesterday."
"I did preach yesterday, and shall till he has got another assistant. But he and I are parted as regards all friendly connection."
"But isn't that a pity?"
"Miss Mackenzie, I don't mind telling you that I have found it impossible to put up with the impertinence of that woman"—and now, as he spoke, there came a distorted fire out of his imperfect eye—"impossible! If you knew what I have gone through in attempting it! But that's over. I have the greatest respect for him in the world; a very thorough esteem. He is a hard-working man, and though I do not always approve the style of his wit,—of which, by-the-bye, he thinks too much himself,—still I acknowledge him to be a good spiritual pastor. But he has been unfortunate in his marriage. No doubt he has got money, but money is not everything."
"Indeed, it is not, Mr Maguire."