"No. Therefore, we cannot fairly speculate as to the outcome. Meanwhile, as far as my system has reached, it is gratifying, as you confess."
"The same can be said of mine."
"Doubtless. But has your son's life been lived? Thus far, you have as much reason for satisfaction as I have. I hope that you will never be compelled to admit that innocence, based on ignorance, is a weak barrier to oppose to the inevitable temptations which beset young men."
"Innocence fortified by religious principle, early instilled," had been the solemn reply.
M. Claghorn understood the solemnity and braved the possible results of a confession which he was willing to make rather than be further exposed to the occasional somewhat annoying admonitory tone of his companion.
"I am a living example of the futility of that contention," he answered. "I do not wish to be understood as admitting that I have been unduly addicted to vice, which would not be true; but I have tasted of forbidden fruit. I found it unsatisfactory. I base my theory on careful observation and some personal experience."
Cousin Jared groaned inwardly, but made no answer. Exhortation was on his tongue's end, but, as the philosopher had desired, he recognized its futility.
Indulgence in wine was one of those vices which the Reverend Jared had found reprehensible, a practice which it grieved him to observe was permitted by the lax views of all those Claghorns, except himself and Leonard, who were sojourning together. It is not to be assumed that these people indulged in unseemly intoxication. Of so untoward a result the Professor had no fear. He objected to wine-drinking as offering an evil example. The fact that in so doing he discredited the first miracle of his Saviour was a difficulty easily surmounted by a nimble theologian.
"You are so fierce about wine that one would think you had a personal hatred toward liquor," Beverley had said to him laughingly.
"I have, 'Liph. Jeremiah Morley——" He said no more, remembering who Jeremiah Morley had been.