Mr. Plumber nodded again; Mr. Harding would rather he had spoken. "May I ask if you are a contributor to such a publication?"
"May I inquire why you ask?"
"It is reported in the parish that you are. The parish does not relish the report. And you must know yourself that it is not a paper"--the vicar hesitated--"not a paper with which a gentleman would wish it to be known that he was associated."
"Well?"
"Well, without entering into questions of the past, I hope you will give me to understand that, at any rate, in the future, you will not contribute to its pages."
"Why?"
"Is it necessary to explain? Are we not both clergymen?"
"Are you suggesting that a clergyman should pay occasional visits to a debtor's prison rather than contribute to the pages of a comic paper?"
"It is not a question of a comic paper, but of this particular comic paper."
The curate looked intently at the vicar. He had dark eyes which, at times, were curiously full of meaning. Mr. Harding felt that they were very full of meaning then. He so sympathised with the man, so realised the burdens which he had to bear, that he never found himself alone with him without becoming conscious of a sensation which was almost shyness. At that moment, as the curate continued to fixedly regard him, he was not only shy, but ashamed.