“There’s nothing better than the county,” said Sir John, “and the parish for a clergyman. What would you have? You can’t do more than your duty wherever you may be. I hope Arthur will stick to his, and then I shan’t complain. If he had been at it sooner it would have been better for us all.” “Lewis Durant has been hearing a great deal about him,” said Lady Curtis; “everything that is most satisfactory. Lewis is not much in society, I suppose, his work would not permit it; but he hears everything at the club. That is where you men get all your news. I hear all sorts of things from him; and he knows the kind of news that is most acceptable here.” “There is a great deal in that,” said the Rector. “Some men make quite a business of it. It helps a man on wonderfully; but if Durant is rising in his profession, as you were saying, he can’t have much time for his club. Son of old Durant, the saddler, isn’t he? How odd that such men should be in clubs at all.” Bertie Curtis knew exactly what he was doing; he was not cowed by the look of indignant wonder which met him from Lady Curtis’s eyes, nor the less open gleam of scorn and defiance which came from under Lucy’s drooped eyelids. It was Sir John the Rector meant to work upon, not the ladies, whom he knew to be partizans of his rival. Nobody had ever hinted that Durant was his rival, or that Sir John was nervous on the subject; but there are some things which reveal themselves without the aid of words. “Not the son, the grandson,” said Sir John. “Old Durant is dead long ago, and left a very good fortune; but they’ve run through a great part of it, I fear. That is the worst of fortunes made in trade; they go as fast as they come. As for young Durant, I wish half the young men in the clubs were half as good fellows. But he is not the kind of man, one must allow, whom you would expect to see familiar in our houses.” “What kind of men do you like to see familiar in your house?” said Lady Curtis. “Empty-headed nobodies? Lewis will always make his way. He has friends that are more worth having than we are. He goes everywhere.” “Does he, indeed?” said the Rector; “and his profession, what becomes of his profession? His father--or grandfather, was it?--would not have approved of that; but lawyers, though everybody says they are so hardworking, have a great deal of leisure, I think. How different a clergyman is, now--” “Cousin Bertie, were you not at Epsom or somewhere the other day?” said Lucy, whose indignation was almost beyond words. “Yes; I went down with Gerald, who has to be amused, poor fellow; but I did not think anyone knew,” the Rector said, hastily; at which Sir John, though perhaps it was not quite polite, shook his head. “The turf is all very well,” he said. “It suits some men well enough; but a clergyman should not get the name of it, Bertie. I don’t like it for a clergyman.”