“You would have a nice walk,” said Trevannion.
“Very! and a sermon gratis to boot,” replied Meredith. “It would have done you good, Trevannion, to have heard what shocking things you have done in being so very genteel.”
“What do you mean?” said Trevannion, coolly.
“Louis Mortimer was giving me a taste of his Methodistical mind on the duties of clergymen generally, and your humble servant especially.”
“I presume you do not include yourself in the fraternity yet?” said Trevannion.
“Not exactly; but having informed him of my prospects, the good child began to upbraid me with my hypocrisy, and, bless you, such a thundering sermon,—positively quite eloquent.”
“Perhaps I may be allowed to profit by the second part of it,” said Trevannion, turning to Louis; “will you be kind enough to edify me?”
Louis did not reply, and Trevannion's lips curled slightly as he remarked, “There is an old proverb about those who live in glass houses—‘Physician, cure thyself.’ ”
Poor Louis turned away, and Meredith, stretching himself and yawning terrifically, continued, “You must know, Trevannion, that it is very wicked to be any thing but a Methodist, very wicked for a clergyman to be genteel, or to wish to make himself comfortable.”
“Hastings, I did not say so,” said Louis, turning his head.