“But I am not, sir,” replied his father, firmly. “For years past it has been thrown in my teeth that I am rightly named Eli. You know why. It is time, now, sir, that we took care not to be ashamed of the enemy in the gate.”
“Please don’t preach, father,” said the young man, in a tone of protestation.
The Rector paid no attention to his words, but went on—
“Let me ask you first,” he said, “one question.”
“Go on,” said the young man, for his father had stopped.
“Has Miss Portlock accepted your attentions?”
There was a pause here. “I say, Cyril, has Miss Portlock accepted your attentions?”
“Matter of confidence,” replied the young man. “Question I would rather not answer.”
“Then she has not,” said the Rector, quickly, “and I am very, very glad.”
“Why, father?”