"My friend, who, I may say, is a clergyman in my archdeaconry," the elder gentleman resumed, "has been appointed guardian--it is a ridiculous thing for a man in his position--to a--a young actress. She is quite a girl, I understand, but of some notoriety."
"Indeed," said Jack drily. "May I ask how that came about? Wards of that kind do not fall from heaven--as a rule."
The Archdeacon winced. "He tells me," he explained, "that her mother was an old friend of his, and when she died, some time back, she left the girl as a kind of legacy, you see."
"A legacy to him, sir?"
"To him, certainly," the elder man said in some distress. "You follow me?"
"Quite so," said Jack. "Oh, quite so! A common thing, no doubt. Did you say that your friend was a married man, sir?"
"Yes," the Archdeacon replied faintly.
"Just so! just so!" his son said, in the same tone, a tone that was so dreadful to the Archdeacon that it needed Jack's question, "And what is the point upon which he wants advice?" to induce him to go on.
"What he had better do, being a clergyman."
"He should have thought of that earlier--ahem!--I mean it depends a good deal on the young lady. There are actresses and actresses, you know."