Part 41

James looked at her with a good-tempered stare.

"Upon my word," he said to himself, "I never knew I was so patient."

"I can't beat about the bush any longer," continued the Vicar's lady; "I have a very painful duty to perform."

"That quite excuses your hesitation."

"You must guess why I have asked to see you alone."

"I haven't the least idea."

"Does your conscience say nothing to you?"

"My conscience is very well-bred. It never says unpleasant things."

"Then I'm sincerely sorry for you."

James smiled.

"Oh, my good woman," he thought, "if you only knew what a troublesome spirit I carry about with me!"

But Mrs. Jackson saw only hardness of heart in the grave face; she never dreamed that behind those quiet eyes was a turmoil of discordant passions, tearing, rending, burning.

"I'm sorry for you," she repeated. "I think it's very sad, very sad indeed, that you should stand there and boast of the sluggishness of your conscience. Conscience is the voice of God, Captain Parsons; if it does not speak to you, it behoves others to speak in its place."

"And supposing I knew what you wanted to say, do you think I should like to hear?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Then don't you think discretion points to silence?"

"No, Captain Parsons. There are some things which one is morally bound to say, however distasteful they may be."

"The easiest way to get through life is to say pleasant things on all possible occasions."

"That is not my way, and that is not the right way."

"I think it rash to conclude that a course is right merely because it is difficult. Likewise an uncivil speech is not necessarily a true one."

"I repeat that I did not come here to bandy words with you."

"My dear Mrs. Jackson, I have been wondering why you did not come to the point at once."

"You have been wilfully interrupting me."

"I'm so sorry. I thought I had been making a series of rather entertaining observations."

"Captain Parsons, what does your conscience say to you about Mary Clibborn?"

James looked at Mrs. Jackson very coolly, and she never imagined with what difficulty he was repressing himself.

"I thought you said your subject was of national concern. Upon my word, I thought you proposed to hold a thanksgiving service in Little Primpton Church for the success of the British arms."

"Well, you know different now," retorted Mrs. Jackson, with distinct asperity. "I look upon your treatment of Mary Clibborn as a matter which concerns us all."