“With a most awful temper,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “He got quite angry with the people’s sins while he was preaching.”
“I must confess,” said the vicar, flushing, and speaking rather warmly—“hem! I must confess, Mr Trethick, that the way in which the people down here usurp the priestly office is very shocking, and—and really gives me a great deal of pain.”
“Yes,” said Geoffrey, coolly, “I dare say it would. But I do not see why it should. Here, for instance, is a truly earnest man who finds his way right to the hearts of the people, and he does what you do—prays that they may be led into better ways. His language is rough, I grant, but they understand its homeliness; and if they wouldn’t be so fond of groaning and shouting out ‘Glory’ and ‘Hallelujah’ at incongruous times I should not care. One thing is very evident: he rouses people out of what your clerical gentlemen would call their sinful lethargy.”
“I must say,” said the vicar, “that this is all very terrible to me.”
“Well, I suppose so,” continued Geoffrey. “You see, Mr Lee, you view it all from a University and High Church point of view.”
“And pray, sir, how would you view it?” said the vicar, with his usual nervousness dropped, and speaking like a doughty champion of the church militant, while Rhoda’s lips parted, and a slight flush came into her cheeks, as she grew quite excited over the verbal battle.
“How would I view it?” said Geoffrey. “Why, from a common-sense point of view—matter-of-fact—human nature.”
“Mr Trethick,” cried the vicar, “you—but I beg pardon, Miss Penwynn; this is not a discussion to carry on before you. Mr Trethick, we may talk of this again.”
“Oh, go on!” cried Rhoda, naïvely, with her excitement flashing out of her eyes. “I like it.”
“Then I will speak,” said the vicar, angrily. “Mr Trethick, you pain me by your remark, and I feel it my duty to say that your words savour of most heterodox opinions.”