Caroline laughed.
"Calling doesn't signify. And you must remember, daddy is the banker of St. Paul's. No, Nan; I don't mean that; I am sure that the rector's calls have nothing to do with the finances of the church. But, to tell the truth, daddy calls him a mollycoddle; says he hasn't enough gumption—whatever that may be—to stand up for himself at the trustees' meetings. All the trustees are opposed to him because he is not over thirty."
"And the best-looking rector the church ever had," supplemented Mrs. Cathewe.
"But a mollycoddle, Nan! You wouldn't have me marry a mollycoddle, would you?" There was a covert plea in her tones which urged Mrs. Cathewe emphatically to deny that the Reverend Richard Allen was a mollycoddle.
Mrs. Cathewe did deny it. "He is not a mollycoddle, and you very well know it. Jack says that his meekness and humility is all a sham."
"A hypocrite!" sitting up very straight.
"Mercy, no! His meekness is merely a sign of splendid self-control. No man could be a mollycoddle and have eyes like his. True, they are mild, but of the mildness of the sea on a calm day. 'Ware of the hurricane!"
"Has Mr. Cathewe found out yet to what college he belonged before he became a divinity student?"
"No; and even I have never had the courage to ask him. But Jack thinks it is Harvard, because the rector let slip one day something about Cambridge. Why don't you write to ask your brother about him?"
For reasons best known to herself, Caroline did not answer.