“Like them? I should think not! Since one’s forced to do a certain amount of chapels, the shorter they are the better.”
“Of course, if you regard it in the light of ‘doing’ so many chapels, you won’t find it pleasant.”
“Do you mean to tell me now,” said Bruce, turning round and looking full at Suton, “that you regard chapels as anything but an unmitigated nuisance?”
“Most certainly I do mean to tell you so, if you ask me.”
“Ah! I see—a Sim!” said Bruce, with the slightest possible shrug of the shoulders.
“I don’t know what you mean by a ‘Sim,’ Mr Bruce,” said Suton, slightly colouring; “but whether a Sim or not, I at least expect to be treated as a gentleman.”
“Oh, I beg pardon,” said Bruce; “but I couldn’t help recognising the usual style of—”
“Of cant, I suppose you would say. Thank you. You must find it a cold faith to disbelieve in all sincerity.”
“Well, I don’t know. At any rate, I don’t believe that all your saints put together were really a bit better than their neighbours; so I can’t get up an annual enthusiasm in their honour. All men are really alike at the bottom.”
“Nero’s belief,” said Owen, who had overheard the conversation.