“Good thunder, father,” Herbert said to him one morning when the lecture had been longer than usual, “isn’t Louie Grey as good as I am, if her father hasn’t quite as much money as you? He is a banker and a gentleman, and folks like him, and put him in office. Why, he is President of the village now, and—and—I never told you—but that time Mr. Smith, our church warden, died and we had to have a new one, they offered it to Mr. Grey, who refused it, just as he refused being vestryman, saying he was not good enough. So they took you, because you had a lot of money, I know; I heard about it. They said you were proud and overbearing, but on the whole a good man, and if Mr. Grey wouldn’t take it, there was no one else, so they elected you. I wanted to tell you then, but you seemed so pleased I didn’t.” The judge was very pale by the time Herbert finished this statement, and for a church warden very angry, too. He didn’t swear, but he wanted to, and did say some things not very complimentary to the church generally and Mr. Grey in particular. He was proud of being church warden, and that Tom Grey should have been mentioned in preference to himself was galling to his pride, and increased his dislike for the man and everything pertaining to him, while Herbert was again told in strong terms to let the Grey girl alone. “Nobody knows what her father was before he came here, or how he lived either. No business till he opened a bank, I’ve heard it hinted—but I ain’t going to slander anybody; this I’ll say, though, I don’t believe Tom Grey’s record is the cleanest that ever was. Needn’t tell me that one-horse bank of his can pay for the big swath he is cutting. Stands to reason he has some other way of getting money, and always has had. Time will tell. Warden of the church! I’d laugh. He had sense enough to decline, and I’ll resign, too, by the Lord Harry! Took me because I had money and there was nobody else! Yes, sir! I’ll resign, and let ’em have Tom Grey if they want him.” The judge was very red in the face by the time he had finished this tirade, to which Herbert had listened impatiently. He had seen a plaid skirt and red waist down the street, and was anxious to get away; but his father was not yet through, and, after mopping his face and taking breath, he went on: “The girl is all right in her place, but my son should look higher, and remember the kind of family he belongs to. Do you think your cousin, Fred Lansing, would go scampering round the country with Tom Grey’s girl? No, sir! There’s a young man who knows how to demean himself, and it would be well for you to imitate him. He is coming here, too. I’ve just got a letter from his mother, my sister and your aunt, Mrs. George Lansing. They will visit us this summer and bring that young lady who lives with them. There’s a chance for you. What is her name? Blanche—Blanche—?”