‘I believe I ought to protest against more wine,’ said the priest, in his most insinuating voice; ‘but there are occasions where the yielding to temptation conveys a moral lesson.’
‘I suspect that I cultivate my nature a good deal in that fashion,’ said Gorman, as he opened a fresh bottle.
‘This is perfectly delicious,’ said Miller, as he sipped his glass; ‘and if I could venture to presume so far, I would ask leave to propose a toast.’
‘You have my permission, sir,’ said Miss Betty, with stateliness.
‘I drink, then,’ said he reverently, ‘I drink to the long life, the good health, and the unbroken courage of the Holy Father.’
There was something peculiarly sly in the twinkle of the priest’s black eye as he filled his bumper, and a twitching motion of the corner of his mouth continued even as he said, ‘To the Pope.’
‘The Pope,’ said Gorman as he eyed his wine—
‘“Der Papst lebt herrlich in der Welt.”’
‘What are you muttering there?’ asked his aunt fiercely.
‘The line of an old song, aunt, that tells us how his Holiness has a jolly time of it.’