Eddy stood looking on the floor, angry, unhappy, uncertain. “It’s no choice at all,” he said at last. “You know I can’t give them up. Why can’t I have them and St. Gregory’s, too? What’s the inconsistency? I don’t understand.” The vicar looked at him impatiently. His faculty of sympathy, usually so kind, humorous, and shrewd, had run up against one of those limiting walls that very few people who are supremely in earnest over one thing are quite without. He occasionally (really not often) said a stupid thing; he did so now. “You don’t understand? Surely it’s extremely simple. You can’t serve God and Mammon; that’s the long and the short of it. You’ve got to choose which.” That, of course, was final. Eddy said, “Naturally, if it’s like that, I’ll leave St. Gregory’s at once. That is, directly it’s convenient for you that I should,” he added, considerate by instinct, though angry. The vicar turned to face him. He was bitterly disappointed. “You mean that, Oliver? You won’t give it another trial, on the lines I advise? Mind, I don’t mean I want you to have no friends, no outside interests.... Look at Traherne, now; he’s full of them.... I only want, for your own sake and our people’s, that your heart should be in your job.” “I had better go,” said Eddy, knowing it for certain. He added, “Please don’t think I’m going off in a stupid huff or anything. It’s not that. Of course, you’ve every right to speak to me as you did; but it’s made my position quite clear to me. I see this isn’t really my job at all. I must find another.” The vicar said, holding out his hand, “I’m very sorry, Oliver. I don’t want to lose you. Think it over for a week, will you, and tell me then what you have decided. Don’t be hasty over it. Remember, we’ve all grown fond of you here; you’ll be throwing away a good deal of valuable opportunity if you leave us. I think you may be missing the best in life. But I mustn’t take back what I said. It is a definite choice between two ways of life. They won’t mix.”