These were his reasonings spread out over many days and weeks, during which time he was much at Whitefield House, often to Madame Rosa’s great inconvenience and annoyance. And indeed of late she had adopted the habit of denying herself; an offence which took all Mr. Bentley’s love to forgive. For it was a falsehood, he said; and worse--forcing her servants to lie for her. While Rosa only answered, “Mais, Monsieur l’Abbé, it is a thing seen--it is understood--everybody knows what it means when one says that Madame is not at home, or does not receive to-day.” “In the world, that may be,” said Mr. Bentley; “but we do not understand such positions here.” “Monsieur l’Abbé! are you not the same here as any where else? What is there so peculiarly virtuous in Langthwaite that you must make laws for yourselves against all the rest of the world, and condemn all the rest of the world? You don’t seem to think that there is any crime in pride and hatred, and self-sufficiency, and all that--only in happiness and gaiety of heart. It is monstrous!” cried Rosa, excited. “Madame Floriani, I beg of you one favour, I have asked it before. Do not call me monsieur l’abbé, I am not a Romish priest, but a Protestant minister,” said Mr. Bentley, gravely. “Oh, pardon!” cried Rosa, with a toss of her graceful head, and making that pretty little noise with her lips which you hear every Italian make when perplexed or dissatisfied. “Oh, pardon! It is so natural to me to call men of your profession abbés or curés, that I forget. I will try to remember.” “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. “Marry a clergyman!” said Mr. Bentley, with a kind of roar; and down he came on his knees, first seizing her hand.