sword, Mr. Orts? The man who wielded it long ago was a gallant gentleman
and a stalwart captain. And my Lord, as he told me but on Thursday
afternoon, hung it there that he might always have in mind the fact that
he bore the name of this man, and must bear it meritoriously. My Lord is
a gentleman. La, believe me, if you, too, were a gentleman, Mr. Orts, you
would understand! But a gentleman is not a talebearer; a gentleman does not
defame any person behind his back, far less the person to whom he owes his
daily bread."

"So he has been gulling you?" said Simon Orts; then he added quite
inconsequently: "I had not thought anything you could say would hurt me. I
discover I was wrong. Perhaps I am not a gentleman. Faith, no; I am only a
shabby drunkard, a disgrace to my cloth, am I not, Anastasia? Accordingly,
I fail to perceive what old Aluric Floyer has to do with the matter in
hand. He was reasonably virtuous, I suppose; putting aside a disastrous
appetite for fruit, so was Adam: but, viewing their descendants, I ruefully
admit that in each case the strain has deteriorated."

There was a brief silence; then Lady Allonby observed: "Perhaps I was
discourteous. I ask your forgiveness, Mr. Orts. And now, if you will pardon
the suggestion, I think you had better go to your dying parishioner."

But she had touched the man to the quick. "I am a drunkard; who made me
so? Who was it used to cuddle me with so many soft words and kisses--yes,
kisses, my Lady!--till a wealthier man came a-wooing, and then flung me
aside like an old shoe?"

This drenched her cheeks with crimson, "I think we had better not refer to
that boy-and-girl affair. You cannot blame me for your debauched manner
of living. I found before it was too late that I did not love you. I was