“I know what a dissolute dog you are,” cried the Parson, smoking with indignation at having spoiled his Sunday dinner, and made a scene, for nothing. “You forced me to ride after you, sir. What do you mean by this sort of thing?”
“Mr. Hales, I have no idea what you mean. You seem to be much excited. Pray oblige me with the reason.”
“The reason, indeed! when I know what you are! Two nice good girls, as ever lived, you have stolen out of my gallery, sir; and covered my parish with shame, sir. And are you fit to come near my niece? I have not told Sir Roland of it, only for your father’s sake; but now I will tell him, and quiet as he is, how long do you suppose he will be in kicking you down the Coombe, sir?”
“Come, now,” said Stephen, having long been proof against righteous indignation; “you must be well aware, Rector, that the whole of that ancient scandal was scattered to the winds, and I emerged quite blameless.”
“Indeed, I know nothing of the sort. You did what money could do—however, it is some time back; and perhaps I had better have let an old story—Camerina—eh, what is it? On the other hand, if only——”
“Rector, you always mean aright, though you may be sometimes ungenerous. In your magnificent sermon to-day what did you say? Why, you said distinctly, in a voice that came all round the pillars—there is mercy for him that repenteth.”
“To be sure I did, and I meant it too; but I meant mercy up above, not in my own parish, Stephen. I can’t have any mercy in my own parish.”
“Let us say no more about it, sir; I am not a very young man now, and my great desire is to settle down. I now have the honour of loving your niece, as I never loved any one before. And I put it to you in a manly way, and as one of my father’s most valued friends, whether you have anything to say against it?”
“You mean to say that you really want to settle down with Alice! A girl of half your age and ten times your power of life! Come, Stephen!”
“Well, sir, I know that I am not in as vigorous health as you are. You will walk me down, no doubt, when we come to shoot together on my father’s land; but still, all I want is a little repose, and country life, and hunting; a little less of the clubs, and high play, and the company of the P.R., who makes us pay so hard for his friendship. I wish to leave all these bad things—once for all to shake them off—and to get a good wife to keep me straight, until my dear father drops off at last. And the moment I marry I shall start a new hunt, and cut out poor Lord Unicorn, who does not know a foxhound from a beagle. This country is most shamefully hunted now.”