'Mr. Warricombe is a great geologist, I think?—Probably he frequents public worship as a mere tribute to social opinion?'
He asked the question in the airiest possible way, as if it mattered nothing to him what the reply might be.
'Mr. Warricombe is a man of sincere piety,' Godwin answered, with grave countenance.
'That by no means necessitates church-going, my dear Peak,' rejoined the other, waving his hand.
'You think not? I am still only a student, you must remember. My mind is in suspense on not a few points.'
'Of course! Of course! Pray let me give you the results of my own thought on this subject.'
He proceeded to do so, at some length. When he had rounded his last period, he unexpectedly started up, swung on his toes, spread his chest, drew a deep breath, and with the sweetest of smiles announced that he must postpone the delight of further conversation.
'You must come and dine with me as soon as my house is in reasonable order. As yet, everything is sens dessus-dessous. Delightful old city, Exeter! Charming! Charming!'
And on the moment he was gone.
What were this man's real opinions? He had brains and literature; his pose before the world was not that of an ignorant charlatan. Vanity, no doubt, was his prime motive, but did it operate to make a cleric of a secret materialist, or to incite a display of excessive liberalism in one whose convictions were orthodox? Godwin could not answer to his satisfaction, but he preferred the latter surmise.