“Mr. Clare is not a fool, Fred.”
“He’s an enigma, to be as clear-headed as he is, and yet no hypocrite. Go on, ask him whatever you like; I sha’n’t, mind having his views on the subject, that is, if you care to tell me, for they are sure to be original at all events, and you need not bind yourself to carry them out.”
“I shall consult him in your presence and nowhere else,” said Alice, more wounded than she cared to show.
Mr. Clare listened to her statement of the facts in the case, with a calm exterior but some inward perplexity.
“I suppose something must be done with the money,” he said, after a little consideration; “but your husband is probably better able to advise you what, than I am.”
Dr. Richards smiled grimly. “It might be given back to Randolph, or transferred to Pinkie,” he said grimly; “or even Frank would not turn up his nose at it.”
“The last I should by no means advise,” said the clergyman quickly; “indeed, I am not sure that I can advise at all,” he added.
“Well, it is usually a thankless task, I admit,” said the doctor; “but when you find us at a total deadlock in a question of conscience, eh?”
“I can not see the harm there would be in taking this money and making a proper use of it,” said Alice emphatically.
Mr. Clare smiled. “I begin to understand,” he said. “Two people are never at a total deadlock, Dr. Richards, upon any question that requires immediate action, and which both of them thoroughly understand. Truth being what it is, the thing is impossible.”