“I don’t believe a word of what you say!” she cried. “You saw all this, but how?”
I told her how, and she uttered a cry of virtuous indignation.
“It is shameful!” she exclaimed. “I will never speak to him again—never!”
“On the contrary, I think you should speak to him, and, like a true matchmaker, produce the dénouement. You need not tell him that I played Peeping Tom; but, without doing so, you can act on the information I have given you. After all, if he really loves the girl——”
“But he does not love her!”
She paused, trembling and flushing, conscious of her blunder.
“Then is he a greater scoundrel than even I suspected!”
“There must be some mistake. I am sure Mr. Santley would do nothing dishonourable. As to marrying, his ideas are those of the High Church. He does not think that a priest has any right to marry.”
I looked at her in amazement. After what I had told her, could she possibly be attempting to justify him? If so, the case was worse than I had foreseen, and her moral sense had already been effectually poisoned. She continued rapidly and eagerly, as if contending in argument with her own thoughts.
“A clergyman’s position is very difficult. If he is unmarried, as a true priest should be, he is persecuted by all the marriageable girls of his parish. His slightest attentions are misconstrued, his most innocent acts exaggerated; and if he shows a friendly interest in any young person, he is sure to be misunderstood. I have no doubt, after all, that what you saw could be easily explained; and that, in any case, Miss Dove is the person really to blame.”