‘That depends upon what we call selfishness. If a strict neutrality as to my neighbour’s business means selfishness, assuredly I am the most selfish of men.’ ‘The Gospel tells us we are to love our neighbour as ourselves, Clement.’ ‘I obey that divine precept implicitly. I never worry myself. I never worry my neighbour.’ The Vicar might have gone a step further, and said that he liked to feed his neighbour as well as he liked to feed himself--for, in that one quality of caring for the body as well as for the souls of other people, Clement Dulcimer was a faithful follower of his Divine Master. ‘And I’m afraid you allow things in your parish that oughtn’t to be, Clement, sometimes,’ ventured Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘My dear, God allows them. They are done under the All-seeing Eye. If He cannot make men better, do you suppose I can?’ ‘You might lead them to Him, dear.’ ‘I try my best to do that, Selina; but I don’t drive them. That’s where I fall short, I admit. Cyril is trying his hand at the driving process. He’s young and energetic. We shall see how it answers, and how long he sticks at it.’ ‘Cyril is the most earnest young man you’ve ever had as a curate.’ ‘I taught him myself, and I know what he’s made of,’ murmured the Vicar. ‘And there’s no denying that he has done good already, Clement. The schools are better attended, and there are more poor people at church on a Sunday evening.’ ‘Since you have such a high opinion of Cyril, how is it that you have never thought of him as a husband for Beatrix? A clergyman ought to marry a fortune if he marries at all. He can put the money out to higher interest than any one else. He keeps a deposit account in heaven.’ ‘But, Clement, the title!’ exclaimed Mrs. Dulcimer, ‘and Culverhouse Castle. Such a position for dear Beatrix.’ ‘Ah, to be sure, the position! I suppose a girl thinks more about that now-a-days than of her lover’s mind or person. But certainly Cyril is both handsomer and cleverer than his cousin Kenrick. I should like a curate with a large income, it would be so good for the parish. And then we might rub on without the weekly offertory Cyril is always plaguing me to institute, and which I am convinced will set my congregation against me. Fancy me going up to my pulpit as a beggar every Sunday, and my people expecting value for their money out of my sermon. Imagine their remarks at the church door: “Not much there for sixpence,” “A very poor shilling’s worth,” and so forth.’ ‘Clement,’ cried Mrs. Dulcimer, thoroughly scandalized this time, and with all her frills in motion, ‘you ought never to have been a clergyman.’