"He is a great favourite with Lady Vargrave and Miss Cameron, I believe," said Mr. Merton. "A mere village priest, I suppose; no talent, no energy—or he could not be a curate at that age."
"Very true,—a shrewd remark. The Church is as good a profession as any other for getting on, if a man has anything in him. I shall live to see you a bishop!"
Mr. Merton shook his head.
"Yes, I shall; though you have hitherto disdained to exhibit any one of the three orthodox qualifications for a mitre."
"And what are they, my lord?"
"Editing a Greek play, writing a political pamphlet, and apostatizing at the proper moment."
"Ha, ha! your lordship is severe on us."
"Not I; I often wish I had been brought up to the Church,—famous profession, properly understood. By Jupiter, I should have been a capital bishop!"
In his capacity of parson, Mr. Merton tried to look grave; in his capacity of a gentlemanlike, liberal fellow, he gave up the attempt, and laughed pleasantly at the joke of the rising man.