“Oh, well—there!” replied Jacóbus, fingering out a gold piece from his waistcoat-pocket. “But I don’t believe in missionaries. They’re all dashed nonsense and lies.”
The Dominé started by the window, like a war-horse that hears the bugle-call. “Don’t say that, Jacóbus,” he interposed. “You shouldn’t say that.”
“Shouldn’t? Shouldn’t? I know more about missionaries than you do. A set of guzzling do-nothings, living on the money of silly spinsters like her.” He pointed to his sister, who immediately put her hand to her head.
“You forget that I also have seen something of heathen countries,” replied the Dominé, with somewhat heightened intonation; “and I, who was then a soldier of the sword, I delight to pay my tribute of humblest admiration to the soldiers of the Cross. Theirs is a certain daily sacrifice without possibility of fame or reward; and you, Jacóbus—forgive me that I say it—you people who have gone in search of money, where they go in search of souls, you, on your return, should at least have the grace to be silent about their occasional delinquencies, as they are about your continuous atrocities. Of course I am speaking collectively. I have not the slightest intention to insinuate—”
“Abuse Josine,” cried Jacóbus, floundering to his feet; “I see my cab has come. Begad! why don’t you pitch into Josine?”
“Josine is a woman,” replied the Dominé, shamefacedly, following his retreating brother-in-law down the passage. “I always feel that we are at a great disadvantage with regard to the gentler sex, though I freely admit that Josine—”
“Well, you needn’t work your steam off on me, and that when I so seldom come to see you! By Jove! it’s too bad. Look here, Rovers, I am going on to Ursula. I wanted to have spoken to you about serious matters, instead of wasting my time on missionaries. You know, I’m the Radical candidate for Horstwyk. Of course you’ll support me, and Ursula will take her cue from you.”
“I have no politics,” replied the Dominé, resting his armless sleeve on the gate-post; “and Ursula will judge for herself.”
“You mean to oppose me?” cried Jacóbus, suddenly filling the fly-window with his big orange face.