“I am the proprietor, but the tenant is the owner in law. He could warn me off his ground. I have no power.”
“I fear you have no inclination,” said Angelo, nettled.
“Not much, to tell the truth,” replied Sir Charles coolly. “Does it matter so very much who sows the good seed, or whether it is flung abroad from a pulpit or a grassy knoll?”
“That is begging the question, Sir Charles. Why assume that it is good seed? it is more likely to be tares than wheat in this case.”
“And is not that begging the question? Well, I will make it my business to know: and if she preaches sedition, or heresy, or bad morals, I will strain my power a little to silence her. More than that I really cannot promise you. The day is gone by for intolerance.”
“Intolerance is a bad thing; but the absence of all conviction is worse, and that is what we are coming to.”
“Not quite that: but the nation has tasted liberty; and now every man assumes to do what is right in his own eyes.”
“That mean's what is wrong in his neighbor's.”
Sir Charles thought this neat, and laughed good-humoredly: he asked the rector to dine on Sunday at half-past seven. “I shall know more about it by that time,” said he.
They dined early on Sunday, at Highmore, and Ruperta took her maid for a walk in the afternoon, and came back in time to hear the female preacher.