"to entertain a singularly high opinion of my pride, to say nothing of my sense."
"Tut, my dear person, tut!" says his lordship, wagging a yellow finger at me. "I've made a lifetime's study of you dear creatures, and I know. You can no more resist an unctuous and insidious boy in bands and cassock than your tender old papa can resist a pair of eyes. Oh, I've seen it, child, seen it in a dozen cases—damn fine women too! And their deterioration has been tragical. Faith, a parson where there's women is a most demoralising thing in nature."
"'Pon my soul, my lord," says I, in my courtliest manner, and adroitly misreading the opinion he expressed, "your own case is quite sufficient to destroy that theory, for you, my lord, are not the least ecclesiastical."
"Faith, that's true," says he, and the old dog positively blushed with pleasure; "but had it been necessary for me to earn a livelihood I should certainly have gone into the Church. And while we are on matters theological I might say that I do believe that these strict practices will cheat Monsieur le Diable of my soul, as was my hope from the beginning."
At this my lord could say no more. He burst into such a peal of laughter at his lifelong agility in this affair that the tears stepped from his eyes and turned the powder on his cheeks to paste.
Now I ever had allowed that the Earl, my papa, was the greatest man of my acquaintance. But it
