Hadrian took a sheet of paper and wrote the apostolic benediction to William Jameson. "You will like to have this? Persevere, dear son; and pray for Us as for your brother-in-the-Lord. And—do you know Cardinal Sterling? Well: come to Vatican whenever you please and make his acquaintance. He will expect you. Good-bye. God bless you."
The Pope went down to the bald old amiability, who was correct and mild enough in expressing a profound sense of the honour. Hadrian spoke to him of himself; and found that a public-school, university, and Anglican parsonage, had dulled what capability of emotion he ever had had, or had taught him the rare art of self-concealment. He was a capital specimen of the ordinary man, stinted, limited: one whose instinct prevented him from asserting an individuality. But he was a gentleman; and a Christian of a kind, actuated by the best intentions, paralysed by the worst conventions.
"We wish to speak to you of Jameson:" at length the Apostle said.
"Ah, poor fellow!"
"Now why do you say that, Mr. Guthrie?"
"Well, Holiness, I'm afraid he's in a most uncomfortable position. I'm sure this is not the place for him. You see he doesn't get on with the men."
"Does he quarrel with them?"
"Oh, dear me no! But he avoids them."
"Perhaps he has his reasons."
"Well, I'm afraid he has. But then it doesn't do to shew them. I often tell him so—try to chaff him into a more come-at-able frame of mind, you know, Holy Father."