Dora, very
weakly, rose to the bait. Jack Ives, airily remarking that there
was no use in ceremony among friends, seized the place next to
Trix at dinner (her mother was just opposite) and walked on the
terrace after dinner with her in the moonlight. When the ladies
retired he came into the smoking room, drank a whisky and soda,
said that Miss Queenborough was really a very charming companion,
and apologized for leaving us early, on the ground that his
sermon was still unwritten. My good cousin, the squire,
suggested rather grimly that a discourse on the vanity of human
wishes might be appropriate.
"I shall preach," said Mr. Ives thoughtfully, "on the
opportunities of wealth."
This resolution he carried out on the next day but one, that
being a Sunday. I had the pleasure of sitting next to Miss Trix,
and I watched her with some interest as Mr. Ives developed his
theme. I will not try to reproduce the sermon, which would have
seemed by no means a bad one had any of our party been able to
ignore the personal application which we read into it; for its
main burden was no other than this--that wealth should be used by
those who were fortunate enough to possess it (here Trix looked
down and fidgeted with her Prayer-book) as a means of promoting
greater union between themselves and the less richly endowed, and
not--as, alas! had too often been the case--as though it were a
new barrier set up between them and their fellow-creatures (here
Miss Trix blushed slightly, and had recourse to her
smelling-bottle).
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