“I am not going to preach, sir; but I am going to make you hear what I have to say.”
“Make?”
“Yes, sir, make, in spite of your insults. You are the brother of the chief man in this village, and I am only the curate; but you are to a certain extent under me; and now you have driven me to it, I am, I repeat, going to make you hear what I have to say.”
“Oh, are you?” mockingly.
“Yes. I say, when instead of approaching my sister in an honourable way, a man who is noted for his blackguardly conduct toward more than one poor girl in this village—”
“Look here, parson, is this meant as an insult?”
”—Comes to my house, and is requested to cease his visits, and then lays siege to the affections of one of my sisters in a cowardly, contemptible, clandestine fashion, I say, that man is unworthy of the treatment I should accord to a gentleman, and calls for that which I would give to some low-lived cad.”
“Here, I say,” cried Tom Candlish fiercely; “do you mean to tell me I am not your sister’s equal?”
“I tell you, sir, that no one who makes himself the associate of betting men, racecourse touts, and low-lived jockeys is the equal of the lady you have named, while one who, in opposition to my wishes, insists upon writing to the weak, foolish girl, and persuades her to meet him as you have done, merits a sound castigation.”
“Once more, do you mean to tell me, I am not your sister’s equal?”