The clergy were sacred beings in Miss Ainley's eyes; no matter what might be the insignificance of the individual, his station made him holy. The very curates--who, in their trivial arrogance, were hardly worthy to tie her patten-strings, or carry her cotton umbrella, or check woollen shawl--she, in her pure, sincere enthusiasm, looked upon as sucking saints. No matter how clearly their little vices and enormous absurdities were pointed out to her, she could not see them; she was blind to ecclesiastical defects; the white surplice covered a multitude of sins.

The clergy were sacred beings in Miss Ainley's eyes; no matter how insignificant the individual, his station made him holy. The very curates - who, in their trivial arrogance, were hardly worthy to carry her umbrella - were regarded by her as infant saints. If their little vices and enormous absurdities were pointed out to her, she could not see them; the white surplice covered a multitude of sins.
