“It is, but the view I take of it is different,” the young clergyman answered earnestly. “Let me explain, Jack. When I agreed with you a few days ago that the proper course for me to follow, the course which would most fitly assert my honesty and good faith, was to retain the living in spite of threats and opposition, I had my own interests and my own dignity chiefly in view. I looked upon the question as one solely between Lord Dynmore and myself; and I felt, rightly as I still think, that, as a man falsely accused by another man, I had a right to repel the charge by the only practical means in my power—by maintaining my position and defying him to do his worst.” He paused. “Well,” said Jack drily. But the rector did not continue at once, and when he did speak it was with evident effort. He first went back to the fire, and stood gazing into it in the old attitude, with his head slightly bowed and his foot on the fender. The posture was one of humility, and so unlike the man, that it struck Jack and touched him strangely. At last Lindo did continue. “Well,” he said slowly, “that was all right as far as it went. My mistake lay in taking too narrow a view. I thought only of myself and Lord Dynmore, when I should have been thinking of the parish and of—a word I know you are not very fond of—the Church. I should have remembered that with this accusation hanging over me I could not hope to do much good among my people; and that to many of them I should seem an interloper, a man clinging obstinately to something not his own nor fairly acquired. In a word, I ought to have remembered that for the future I should be useless for good and might, on the other hand, become a stumbling-block and occasion for scandal—both inside the parish and outside. You see what I mean, I am sure.” “I see,” quoth Jack contemptuously, “that you need a great many words to make out your case. What I do not think you have considered is the inference which will be drawn from your resignation—you will be taken to have confessed yourself in the wrong.” “I cannot help that.” “Will not that be a scandal?” “It will, at any rate, be one soon forgotten.” “Now, I tell you what!” Jack exclaimed, standing still and confronting the other with the air of a man bent on speaking his mind though the heavens should fall. “This is just a piece of absurd Quixotism, Lindo. You are a poor man, without means and without influence; and you are going, for the sake of a foolish idea—a mere speculative scruple—to give up an income and a house and a useful sphere of work such as you will never get again! You are going to do that, and go back—to what? To a miserable curacy—don’t wince, my friend, for that is what you are going to do—and an income one-fifth of that which you have been spending for the last six months! Now the sole question is, are you quite an idiot?” “You are pretty plain-spoken,” said the rector, smiling feebly.