“And so,” continued Meredith, without noticing Louis, “if we dare to follow up our own or our fathers' wishes, we must listen to Louis Mortimer, and he will tell us what to do.”
“Much obliged to him, I am sure,” said Trevannion.
“Yes, so am I,” rejoined Meredith, “though I forgot to tender my thanks before; and hereby give notice, that when I am in orders, I will not hunt more than convenient, nor play cards on Good Friday, nor go to dancing parties on Saturday evening.”
“Pshaw, Meredith,” said Trevannion: “it is very unbecoming to talk in this manner of so sacred a profession. A hunting and card-playing clergyman ought to be stripped of his gown without hesitation. Any right-minded person would recoil with horror at such a character. It is a great disgrace to the profession; no clergyman ought to enter into any kind of improper dissipation. Your ideas are very light and indelicate.”
“Will you be kind enough to define that term, improper dissipation,” said Meredith, carelessly. “I presume you have no objection to a quiet dance now and then, only they must not call it a ball.”
“A clergyman ought not to dance,” replied Trevannion, in precisely the same cool, dictatorial manner.
“He may look on them, may he not?” said Meredith.
“A clergyman has many serious duties to perform, and he should be very careful that he does not degrade his office,” replied Trevannion. “He has to uphold the dignity of the church, and should take care that his conduct is such that no reproach can fall on that church from his inconsistency.”
“Well, for my part,” said Meredith, lightly, “I think the church too important to miss the weight of my example. I mean to have a most exemplary curate.”
Near these speakers sat Mr. James Wilkinson, with a few little boys, whom at this moment he hastily dismissed, for the sound of the light conversation reached him, and he arose quickly and introduced himself to the little côterie just as Reginald exclaimed, “For shame, Meredith!”