had keen intellectual
perceptions, and could recognise the beauty of honour and worth as
well as most people; and the contrast between himself and the others
who surrounded him presented itself in a very forcible light to Jack.
Instead of Gerald and Frank, Wodehouse was _his_ allotted companion.
For that once he was bitter, notwithstanding his habitual good-humour.

"Yes," he said; "it would be a pity to estrange me from my brothers.
We are, on the whole, a lucky trio. I, whom my relations are civil to;
and Frank, who is not acquitted yet, though he seems so confident; and
Gerald, who has made the greatest mistake of all--"

"Jack," said the Curate, "nobody wants to quarrel with you. You've
dealt shabbily by me, but I do not mind. Only talk of things you
understand--don't talk of Gerald."

For a moment Jack Wentworth was roused almost to passion. "What is
Gerald that I should not understand him?" said Jack; "he and I are the
original brood. You are all a set of interlopers, the rest of you.
What is Gerald that I should not talk of him? In the world, my dear
Frank," continued the heir, superciliously, "as the Squire himself
will testify, a man is not generally exempted from criticism because
he is a parson. Gerald is--"

"I am a simple Catholic layman, nothing more," said Gerald; "not worth
criticism, having done nothing. I am aware I am as good as dead. There
is no reason why Jack should not talk if it pleases him. It will make
no difference to me."

"And yet," said Frank, "it is only the other day that you told us you
were nothing if not a priest."

Gerald turned upon him with a look of melancholy reproach that went to
the Curate's heart. "It is true I said so," he replied, and then he
made a pause, and the light died out of his pale face. "Don't bring up
the ghosts of my dead battles, Frank. I said so only the other day.
But it is the glory of the true Church," said the convert, with a
sudden glow which restored colour for a moment to his face, "to
restrain and subdue the last enemy, the will of man. I am content to
be nothing, as the saints were. The fight has been hard enough, but I
am not ashamed of the victory. When the law of the Church and the
obedience of the saints ordain me to be nothing, I consent to it.
There is nothing more to say."

"And this is how it is to be!" cried Louisa. "He knows what is coming,
and he does not care--and none of you will interfere or speak to him!
It is not as if he did no