no character."

"Oh, you need not be afraid about your character, John," said Theobald
kindly, "and as it is getting late, there can be no occasion for you to
leave the house before to-morrow morning."

To this there was no reply from John, who retired, packed up his things,
and left the house at once.

When Christina heard what had happened she said she could condone all
except that Theobald should have been subjected to such insolence from
one of his own servants through the misconduct of his son. Theobald was
the bravest man in the whole world, and could easily have collared the
wretch and turned him out of the room, but how far more dignified, how
far nobler had been his reply! How it would tell in a novel or upon the
stage, for though the stage as a whole was immoral, yet there were
doubtless some plays which were improving spectacles. She could fancy
the whole house hushed with excitement at hearing John's menace, and
hardly breathing by reason of their interest and expectation of the
coming answer. Then the actor--probably the great and good Mr
Macready--would say, "I shall leave Master Ernest, John, to the
reproaches of his own conscience." Oh, it was sublime! What a roar of
applause must follow! Then she should enter herself, and fling her arms
about her husband's neck, and call him her lion-hearted husband. When
the curtain dropped, it would be buzzed about the house that the scene
just witnessed had been drawn from real life, and had actually occurred
in the household of the Rev. Theobald Pontifex, who had married a Miss
Allaby, etc., etc.

As regards Ernest the suspicions which had already crossed her mind were
deepened, but she thought it better to leave the matter where it was. At
present she was in a very strong position. Ernest's official purity was
firmly established, but at the same time he had shown himself so
susceptible that she was able to fuse two contradictory impressions
concerning him into a single idea, and consider him as a kind of Joseph
and Don Juan in one. This was what she had wanted all along, but her
vanity being gratified by the possession of such a son, there was an end
of it; the son himself was naught.

No doubt if John had not interfered, Ernest would have had to expiate his
offence with ache, penury and imprisonment. As it was the boy was "to
consider himself" as undergoing these punishments, and as suffering pangs
of unavailing remorse inflicted on him by his con