The clergyman merely bowed this time and waited, so Walter continued—
“You know my cousin, Miss Edith Dove?”
As he spoke he fixed his eyes keenly upon the clergyman’s face, but the latter made no sign; he neither winced nor changed colour, but answered calmly enough.
“I have the pleasure of the lady’s acquaintance. She is one of the most esteemed members of my congregation.”
“It is about Miss Dove I wished to speak to you.”
Again the clergyman bowed; again he found it unnecessary to make a reply.
Walter, growing somewhat ill at ease, continued—
“I don’t mind confessing to you, Mr. Santley, that at one period of my career I hoped most earnestly, and indeed confidently believed, that at no very remote date I should have the happiness of making her my wife. I was sincerely attached to her; I believe she was attached to me. But recently all has changed. She is wasting her life; throwing aside all chance of happiness, through some mad infatuation about the Church.”
“Some mad infatuation about the Church!” returned the clergyman, methodically. “Really, my dear sir, I am afraid you forget you are speaking to a clergyman of the Church. As to Miss Dove, she is a lady whose conduct is without reproach; she is one of the Church’s staunchest supporters!”
“Then you approve her present mode of life; you uphold it? You will not advise her to shake her morbid fancies away? to accept an honest affection and a happy home?”