‘What of my nephew, sir! No fresh misfortunes, I hope?’
‘Not so much misfortune, sir, as misconduct—I might say frailty—but frailty which may become ruinous.’
‘How? how? Some mésalliance?’ interrupted Mr. Smith, in a peevish, excited tone. ‘I thought there was some heiress on the tapis—at least, so I heard from my unfortunate son, who has just gone over to Rome. There’s another misfortune.—Nothing but misfortunes; and your teaching, sir, by the bye, I am afraid, has helped me to that one.’
‘Gone over to Rome?’ asked the vicar, slowly.
‘Yes, sir, gone to Rome—to the pope, sir! to the devil, sir! I should have thought you likely to know of it before I did!’
The vicar stared fixedly at him a moment, and burst into honest tears. The banker was moved.
‘’Pon my honour, sir, I beg your pardon. I did not mean to be rude, but—but—To be plain with a clergyman, sir, so many things coming together have quite unmanned me. Pooh, pooh,’ and he shook himself as if to throw off a weight; and, with a face once more quiet and business-like, asked, ‘And now, my dear sir, what of my nephew?’
‘As for that young lady, sir, of whom you spoke, I can assure you, once for all, as her clergyman, and therefore more or less her confidant, that your nephew has not the slightest chance or hope in that quarter.’
‘How, sir? You will not throw obstacles in the way?’
‘Heaven, sir, I think, has interposed far more insuperable obstacles—in the young lady’s own heart—than I could ever have done. Your nephew’s character and opinions, I am sorry to say, are not such as are likely to command the respect and affection of a pure and pious Churchwoman.’