At last Mr Clinton came, and his wife glided out of the room, leaving the curate to convert him. There was a little pause while Mr Evans took stock of the clerk.
'Well, Mr Clinton,' he said finally, 'I've come to talk to you about yourself.... Your wife tells me that you have adopted certain curious views on religious matters; and she wishes me to have some conversation with you about them.'
'You are a man of God,' replied Mr Clinton; 'I am at your service.'
Mr Evans, on principle, objected to the use of the Deity's name out of church, thinking it a little blasphemous, but he said nothing.
'Well,' he said, 'of course, religion is a very good thing; in fact, it is the very best thing; but it must not be abused, Mr Clinton,' and he repeated gravely, as if his interlocutor were a naughty schoolboy—'it mustn't be abused. Now, I want to know exactly what you views are.'
Mr Clinton smiled gently.
'I 'ave no views, sir. The only rule I 'ave for guidance is this—love thy neighbour as thyself.'
'Hum!' murmured the curate; there was really nothing questionable in that, but he was just slightly prejudiced against a man who made such a quotation; it sounded a little priggish.
'But your wife tells me that you've been going about with all sorts of queer people?'
'I found that there was misery and un'appiness among people, and I tried to relieve it.'