“At least there is one great difference between us,” said Mr. Bentley, turning very red.
“What do you mean?” asked the pretty widow tranquilly.
“Shall I tell you?” said the incumbent, in a voice that was meant to be caressing.
“If you please,” answered Rosa, nestling herself back in her easy chair, and putting up her feet on a tabouret.
“I mean,” said Mr. Bentley, after a short pause, and making a desperate rush, like a cart-horse at a fence. “I mean, that we Protestant clergy may marry, and the Romanist priest cannot.”
“Yes, that is true; and I don’t like married priests,” said Rosa quietly.
“Why, Madame Floriani?” asked the incumbent, trembling.
“From association, I suppose. It is distasteful to me.”
“Then you would not yourself?—” stammered Mr. Bentley.
“What?” and Rosa lifted up her eyes in astonishment at his voice.