[ Oh but he would much rather talk of the former than the latter. The former, that being the heavenly status of where they are or lack thereof, is more to the point, less scandalous and more importantly less personal. But he also can't avoid it entirely, and he does feel better about having this conversation in private, with tea, and with the very pleasant feeling of satisfaction knowing he's made Irving comfortable. Tea truly is miraculous (thinks he, who is not so afraid of a little blasphemy.).

But how does he describe Stephen, a witch and a sodomite, to Lieutenant John Irving of all people? He sits down across from Irving with a cup of his own, warm and reassuring in his hands. ]

He's a good lad. Quiet, keeps busy and well to himself, mostly. Good morals, confident, though you wouldn't know it for looking at him. He worked for the peelers back in London, and he's wound about as tightly as I am, so that should tell you quite a bit.

[ He doesn't realize he's doing it, but he's smiling as he describes Stephen. He's gotten quite fond, in spite of his reservations. His finger taps the side of his cup, as he thinks on his next words. ]

I would avoid preaching gospel if you're able, as a matter of keeping the peace.

[ He sips his tea then, eyes on Irving, watching his reaction. ]