ofession which I have adopted is the grandest which ever filled the
heart of man with aspirations. I have barely turned my thirty-second
year, and I am known as the greatest preacher of my day, though I
preach in a language which is not my own. Your House of Lords would
be open to me as a spiritual peer, would I condescend to come to
terms with those who crave the assistance which I could give them. I
can move the masses. I can touch the hearts of men. And in this great
assemblage of mankind which you call London, I can choose my own
society among the highest of the land. Lady Eustace, will you share
with me my career and my fortunes? I ask you, because you are the
only woman whom my heart has stooped to love."

The man was a nasty, greasy, lying, squinting Jew preacher; an
impostor, over forty years of age, whose greatest social success had
been achieved when, through the agency of Mrs. Carbuncle, he made his
way into Portray Castle. He was about as near an English mitre as had
been that great man of a past generation, the Deputy Shepherd. He
was a creature to loathe,--because he was greasy, and a liar, and an
impostor. But there was a certain manliness in him. He was not afraid
of the woman; and in pleading his cause with her he could stand up
for himself courageously. He had studied his speech, and having
studied it, he knew how to utter the words. He did not blush, nor
stammer, nor cringe. Of grandfather or grandmother belonging to
himself he had probably never heard, but he could so speak of his
noble ancestors as to produce belief in Lizzie's mind. And he almost
succeeded in convincing her that he was, by the consent of mankind,
the greatest preacher of the day. While he was making his speech
she almost liked his squint. She certainly liked the grease and
nastiness. Presuming, as she naturally did, that something of what he
said was false, she liked the lies. There was a dash of poetry about
him; and poetry, as she thought, was not compatible with humdrum
truth. A man, to be a man in her eyes, should be able to swear that
all his geese are swans;--should be able to reckon his swans by the
dozen, though he have not a feather belonging to him, even from a
goose's wing. She liked his audacity; and then, when he was making
love, he was not afraid of talking out boldly about his heart.
Nevertheless he was only Mr. Emilius, the clergyman; and she had
means of knowing that his income was not generous. Though she
admired