‘I assure you it is not Miss Fyson,’ he reiterated, wiping his moist forehead. ‘I wonder at your suggesting it. Besides, you surely know my views about the celibacy of the clergy.’
The humorousness, as it would have struck a bystander, of this amazing anticlimax escaped Alice. She knew it was an anticlimax, for she was not giving two thoughts to his principles, but was only involved in his practices. Anger suddenly flamed in her, giving her an odd grotesque dignity.
‘I dare say I have heard you express them,’ she said, ‘but I have also heard you express intimacy and affection towards me. You always encouraged me, you held my hand, you whispered to me, and once, after my confession, you——’
‘No, no,’ said Mr Silverdale hurriedly.
‘But you did: you kissed me on the forehead and called me a little child,’ said Alice, with indignation that waxed as she recalled those tokens.
Mr Silverdale clasped his hands together.
‘I am infinitely distressed,’ he began. But Alice, with her temper rising to heights uncontemplated, interrupted him.
‘You said that twice before,’ she said. ‘And I don’t believe you care a bit.’
‘Hush!’ said Mr Silverdale, holding up his hand as he did at the benediction.
‘I won’t hush. You did all those things, and what was a girl to make of them except what I made of them? I put the natural construction on them. And you know it.’