“And if it be a necessity—” Mr. Crisparkle faltered.
“As you unfortunately find it to be,” returned the Dean.
Mr. Crisparkle bowed submissively: “It is hard to prejudge his case, sir, but I am sensible that—”
“Just so. Perfectly. As you say, Mr. Crisparkle,” interposed the Dean, nodding his head smoothly, “there is nothing else to be done. No doubt, no doubt. There is no alternative, as your good sense has discovered.”
“I am entirely satisfied of his perfect innocence, sir, nevertheless.”
“We-e-ell!” said the Dean, in a more confidential tone, and slightly glancing around him, “I would not say so, generally. Not generally. Enough of suspicion attaches to him to—no, I think I would not say so, generally.”
Mr. Crisparkle bowed again.
“It does not become us, perhaps,” pursued the Dean, “to be partisans. Not partisans. We clergy keep our hearts warm and our heads cool, and we hold a judicious middle course.”
“I hope you do not object, sir, to my having stated in public, emphatically, that he will reappear here, whenever any new suspicion may be awakened, or any new circumstance may come to light in this extraordinary matter?”
“Not at all,” returned the Dean. “And yet, do you know, I don’t think,” with a very nice and neat emphasis on those two words: “I don’t think I would state it emphatically. State it? Ye-e-es! But emphatically? No-o-o. I think not. In point of fact, Mr. Crisparkle, keeping our hearts warm and our heads cool, we clergy need do nothing emphatically.”