“And you would actually let Mrs. Haldane read such works as those?”
“Certainly; though, am sorry to say, she prefers ‘The Old Helmet’ and the ‘Heir of Redclyffe.’ May I ask the name of the work you have been good enough to lend her?”
“It is a book from which I myself have received great benefit—Père Hyacinthes ‘Sermons.’”
“Père Hyacinthe?” repeated Haldane. “Ah! the jolly priest who reverenced celibacy, and proclaimed himself the father of a strapping boy. Well, the man was at least honest. I think all clergymen should marry, and at as early an age as possible. What is your opinion?”
Santley flushed to the temples, while Haldane watched him with a gloomy smile.
“I think—I am sure,” he stammered, “that the married state is the happiest—perhaps the holiest.”
“With these sentiments, of which I cordially approve, why the deuce are you a bachelor?”
The clergyman winced at the question, and his colour deepened; then, as if musing, he glanced round towards the house—a look which was observed and fully appreciated by his tormentor.
“I am sure my wife would encourage you to change your condition. Like most women, she is by instinct a matchmaker.”
Santley did not seem to hear; at any rate, he made no reply, but, holding out his hand quickly, exclaimed—