“Of course, of course; but, my dear Mary, it is putting me in a false position.”
“Not if you treat it as an anonymous gift.”
“How can I, when I feel certain that she sent it?”
“But even if you are, I think you might keep it, Hartley. See how common it is for ladies of a congregation to present the curate with slippers or braces.”
“Yes,” said Salis drily; “and all out of gratitude to their spiritual teacher. Bless ’em, they throw their gifts, and the weak man thinks they are bladders to enable him to float lightly along the social current of air, when, lo! and behold, he finds, poor weak, fluttering butterfly, that one of the fair naturalists has stuck a pin through him, right into the cork, and he is ‘set up’ for life.”
“Nonsense, you vain coxcomb!”
“No, my dear Mary, I am not a vain man; but I can generally tell which way the wind blows. I have a certain duty to perform in connection with my two sisters—a sort of paternal rôle to play, and consequently I am rather afraid of Mrs Berens.”
“Hartley, dear!”
“Yes, Mary. This surplice is going to be paid for by H. Salis, clerk in holy orders, ill as he can afford to do it, or it is going back to the donor.”
“But what can she do with it if your idea is correct?”