Lord St. George read the letter. "He is very impudent, whether he be a scoundrel or not."
"Impudent is no word for it."
"Perhaps he has had some provocation, my lord."
"Not from me, St. George;—not from me. I have done nothing to him. Of course the chapel must be—removed."
"Don't you think the question might stand over for a while?" suggested Mr. Boothby. "Matters would become smoother in a month or two."
"Not for an hour," said the Marquis.
Lord St. George walked about the room with the letter in his hand, meditating. "The truth is," he said, at last, "we have made a mistake, and we must get out of it as best we can. I think my father is a little wrong about this clergyman's character."
"St. George! Have you read his letter? Is that a proper letter to come from a clergyman of the Church of England to—to—to—" the Marquis longed to say to the Marquis of Trowbridge; but he did not dare so to express himself before his son,—"to the landlord of his parish?"
"A red-brick chapel, just close to your lodge, isn't nice, you know."
"He has got no lodge," said the Marquis.