“No, there was no exception,” interrupted Captain Horton. “Now, if you sixteen fellows had been Catholic priests instead of in the Established Church, and you were Scarlett by name instead of Brown—”
“Don't say any more—please!” cried the curate, lifting his hand. “You are going too far, Captain Horton. I like a little innocent fun well enough, but I draw the line at sacred subjects. Let us drop the subject.”
“Oh, yes, of course, that's a good way of getting out of it. And as for jesting about sacred matters, I always understood that one couldn't prove his zeal for Protestantism better than by having a shot at the Roman business.”
“I am happy to say that I do not class myself with Prots,” said the curate, getting up from his chair very carefully, and then consulting his watch. “I must run away now—”
“You can't do it,” interrupted the Captain.
Miss Starbrow laughed. “Don't go just yet, Mr. Brown,” she said. “I wish you all to help me with your advice, or with an opinion at least. You know that I have taken in a young girl, and I have not yet decided what to do with her. I shall call her down for you to see her, as you are all three my very candid friends, and you shall tell me what you think of her appearance.”
She then opened the door and called Fan down, and the poor girl was brought into the neighbourhood of the three gentlemen, and stood with eyes cast down, her pale face reddening with shame to find herself the centre of so much curiosity.
Miss Starbrow glanced at the Captain, who was keenly studying Fan's face, as he stood before the fire, stroking his red moustache.
“Well, if I'm to give a candid opinion,” he said, “all I can say is that she looks an underfed little monkey.”
“I think you are excessively rude!” returned Miss Starbrow, firing up. “She is too young to feel your words, perhaps, but they are nothing less than insulting to my judgment.”