Mr Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary. He meant to give Fred his full advantage, but it would be well, he thought, to clear her mind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes follow when they do a man the wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement. Mary’s cheeks had begun to burn a little, and she was mute.
“I mean, that your action made no real difference to Fred’s lot. I find that the first will would not have been legally good after the burning of the last; it would not have stood if it had been disputed, and you may be sure it would have been disputed. So, on that score, you may feel your mind free.”
“Thank you, Mr Farebrother,” said Mary, earnestly. “I am grateful to you for remembering my feelings.”
“Well, now I may go on. Fred, you know, has taken his degree. He has worked his way so far, and now the question is, what is he to do? That question is so difficult that he is inclined to follow his father’s wishes and enter the Church, though you know better than I do that he was quite set against that formerly. I have questioned him on the subject, and I confess I see no insuperable objection to his being a clergyman, as things go. He says that he could turn his mind to doing his best in that vocation, on one condition. If that condition were fulfilled I would do my utmost in helping Fred on. After a time—not, of course, at first—he might be with me as my curate, and he would have so much to do that his stipend would be nearly what I used to get as vicar. But I repeat that there is a condition without which all this good cannot come to pass. He has opened his heart to me, Miss Garth, and asked me to plead for him. The condition lies entirely in your feeling.”
Mary looked so much moved, that he said after a moment, “Let us walk a little;” and when they were walking he added, “To speak quite plainly, Fred will not take any course which would lessen the chance that you would consent to be his wife; but with that prospect, he will try his best at anything you approve.”
“I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr. Farebrother: but I certainly never will be his wife if he becomes a clergyman. What you say is most generous and kind; I don’t mean for a moment to correct your judgment. It is only that I have my girlish, mocking way of looking at things,” said Mary, with a returning sparkle of playfulness in her answer which only made its modesty more charming.
“He wishes me to report exactly what you think,” said Mr Farebrother.
“I could not love a man who is ridiculous,” said Mary, not choosing to go deeper. “Fred has sense and knowledge enough to make him respectable, if he likes, in some good worldly business, but I can never imagine him preaching and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings, and praying by the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at a caricature. His being a clergyman would be only for gentility’s sake, and I think there is nothing more contemptible than such imbecile gentility. I used to think that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face and neat umbrella, and mincing little speeches. What right have such men to represent Christianity—as if it were an institution for getting up idiots genteelly—as if—” Mary checked herself. She had been carried along as if she had been speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother.
“Young women are severe: they don’t feel the stress of action as men do, though perhaps I ought to make you an exception there. But you don’t put Fred Vincy on so low a level as that?”
“No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he would not show it as a clergyman. He would be a piece of professional affectation.”
“Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he could have no hope?”
Mary shook her head.
“But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his bread in some other way—will you give him the support of hope? May he count on winning you?”