The Parson jumped up, overjoyed, and, with a triumphant glance towards Mrs. Avenel, shook hands heartily with Mr. Richard.
"Now," said the latter, "just put on your hat, sir, and take a stroll with me, and we'll discuss the thing business-like. Women don't understand business; never talk to women on business."
With these words, Mr. Richard drew out a cigar-case, selected a cigar, which he applied to the candle, and walked into the hall.
Mrs. Avenel caught hold of the Parson. "Sir, you'll be on your guard with Richard. Remember your promise."
"He? No! And you see he did not overhear more than what he says. I'm sure you're a gentleman, and won't go agin your word."
"My word was conditional; but I will promise you never to break the silence without more reason than I think there is here for it. Indeed, Mr. Richard Avenel seems to save all necessity for that."
"Are you coming, sir?" cried Richard, as he opened the street door.
The Parson joined Mr. Richard Avenel on the road. It was a fine night, and the moon clear and shining.
"So, then," said Mr. Richard, thoughtfully, "poor Jane, who was always the drudge of the family, has contrived to bring up her son well; and the boy is really what you say, eh?--could make a figure at college?"
"I am sure of it," said the Parson, hooking himself on to the arm which Mr Avenel proffered.
"I should like to see him," said Richard. "Has he any manner? Is he genteel, or a mere country lout?"
"Indeed, he speaks with so much propriety, and has so much modest dignity, I might say, about him, that there's many a rich gentleman who would be proud of such a son."
"It is odd," observed Richard, "what difference there is in families. There's Jane now--who can't read nor write, and was just fit to be a workman's wife--had not a thought above her station; and when I think of my poor sister Nora--you would not believe it, sir, but _she_ was the most elegant creature in the world--yes, even as a child, (she was but a child when I went off to America.) And often, as I was getting on in life, often I used to say to myself, 'My little Nora shall be a lady after all. Poor thing--but she died young.'"
The Parson kindly pressed the arm on which he leaned, and said, after a pause--