“You can say the old folks sent it to her; or that it is a present from Dick, without telling her he has come back from America.”
“My dear sir,” said the parson, “I am more and more thankful to have made your acquaintance. This is a very liberal gift of yours; but your best plan will be to send it through your mother. For, though I don’t want to betray any confidence you place in me, I should not know what to answer if Mrs. Fairfield began to question me about her brother. I never had but one secret to keep, and I hope I shall never have another. A secret is very like a lie!”
“You had a secret then?” said Richard, as he took back the bank-note. He had learned, perhaps in America, to be a very inquisitive man. He added point-blank, “Pray, what was it?”
“Why, what it would not be if I told you,” said the parson, with a forced laugh,—“a secret!”
“Well, I guess we’re in a land of liberty. Do as you like. Now, I dare say you think me a very odd fellow to come out of my shell to you in this off-hand way; but I liked the look of you, even when we were at the inn together. And just now I was uncommonly pleased to find that, though you are a parson, you don’t want to keep a man’s nose down to a shopboard, if he has anything in him. You’re not one of the aristocrats—”
“Indeed,” said the parson, with imprudent warmth, “it is not the character of the aristocracy of this country to keep people down. They make way amongst themselves for any man, whatever his birth, who has the talent and energy to aspire to their level. That’s the especial boast of the British constitution, sir!”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” said Mr. Richard, looking sourly at the parson. “I dare say those are the opinions in which you have brought up the lad. Just keep him yourself and let the aristocracy provide for him!”
The parson’s generous and patriotic warmth evaporated at once, at this sudden inlet of cold air into the conversation. He perceived that he had made a terrible blunder; and as it was not his business at that moment to vindicate the British constitution, but to serve Leonard Fairfield, he abandoned the cause of the aristocracy with the most poltroon and scandalous abruptness. Catching at the arm which Mr. Avenel had withdrawn from him, he exclaimed,—
“Indeed, sir, you are mistaken; I have never attempted to influence your nephew’s political opinions. On the contrary, if, at his age, he can be said to have formed any opinions, I am greatly afraid—that is, I think his opinions are by no means sound—that is, constitutional. I mean, I mean—” And the poor parson, anxious to select a word that would not offend his listener, stopped short in lamentable confusion of idea.
Mr. Avenel enjoyed his distress for a moment, with a saturnine smile, and then said,—