“Let her come to 'the Church,' then,” growled out the canon. “Gently, padre, gently,” said Jekyl, “you are really too covetous, and would drag the river always from your own net. We have been generous, hugely generous, to you for the last three seasons, and have made all your converts the pets of society, no matter how small and insignificant their pretensions. The vulgar have been adopted in the best circles, the ugly dubbed beautiful, the most tiresome of old maids have been reissued from the mint as new coinage. We have petted, flattered, and fawned upon those 'interesting Christians,' as the 'Tablet' would call them, till the girls began to feel that there were no partners for a polka outside the Church of Rome, and that all the 'indulgences' of pleasure, like those of religion, came from the Pope. We cannot give you the Onslows, or, at least, not yet. We have yet to marry the daughter, provide for the friend, squeeze the sou.” “Profligate young villain! Reach me the champagne, Nina; and, Nina, tell your young mistress that it is scarcely respectful to come on foot to the mid-day mass; that the clergy of the town like to see the equipages of the rich before the doors of the cathedral, as a suitable homage to the Church. The Onslows have carriages in abundance, and their liveries are gorgeous and splendid!” “It was her own choice,” said Nina; “she is a singular girl for one that never before knew luxury of any kind.” “I hate these simple tastes,” growled out the padre; “they bespeak that obstinacy which people call a 'calm temperament.' Her own dress, too, has no indication of her rank, Nina.” “That shall be cared for, padre.” “Why shouldn't that young soldier come along with her? Tell him that our choir is magnificent; whisper him that the beautiful Marchesa di Guardoni sits on the very bench beside Miss Dalton.” Nina nodded an assent. “The young girl herself is lax enough about her duties, Nina; she has not been even once to confession.” “That comes of these English!” cried Nina; “they make our service a constant jest. There is always some vulgar quizzing about saint-worship, or relic reverence, or the secrets of the confessional, going on amongst them.” “Does she permit this?” asked the priest, eagerly. “She blushes sometimes, occasionally she smiles with a good-humor meant to deprecate these attacks, and now and then, when the sallies have been pushed too far, I have seen her in tears some hours after.” “Oh, if these heretics would but abstain from ridicule!” cried the canon. “The least lettered amongst them can scoff and gibe and rail. They have their stock subjects of sarcasm, too, handed down from father to son, poor, witless little blasphemies, thefts from Voltaire, who laughed at themselves, and much mischief do they work! Let them begin to read, however, let them commence to 'inquire,' as the phrase has it, and the game is our own.”