“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I suppose they do. I am decidedly unorthodox. I’ve studied nature too much to hold to many of our old college notions.”
“Perhaps you would advocate free thinking?” said the vicar, with a slight sneer; and Rhoda flushed a little more, as she eagerly looked at Geoffrey for his reply.
“Free thinking? Not I. ’Pon my word, Mr Lee, I believe I’m too religious for that.”
“Religious?”
“Yes! Why not? Cannot a man go to chapel, or, in other words, leave off going to church sometimes, without being taxed with irreligion? Look here, Mr Lee, you and I are about contemporaries, and do you know I think if we want to get on here in our different lines of life, the first thing we have to do is to learn of the people.”
“My duty here, sir,” said the vicar, coldly, and growing very pale and upright, “is to teach.”
“So is mine,” said Geoffrey, laughing; “yours spiritual, mine carnal; but, my dear fellow, the first thing we have to do, it seems to me, is to learn the right way to the people’s hearts.”
Rhoda glanced from one to the other, and her pulses began to beat, as she clasped her hands on her lap and excitedly listened for more.
“Perhaps so,” said the vicar, coldly, and he glanced at the door, as if to bring the interview to an end, and yet not liking to leave Geoffrey there the master of the situation.
“For instance, take your sermon last Sunday.”