She had intended to convey an impression that the young man's religious ideas were not exactly of that stanch, true-blue description which she admired.
"Well, he has just come from Oxford, you know," said Mr.Townsend: "and at the present moment Oxford is the most dangerous place to which a young man can be sent." "And Sir Thomas would send him there, though I remember telling his aunt over and over again how it would be." And Mrs.Townsend as she spoke, shook her head sorrowfully.
"I don't mean to say, you know, that he's absolutely bitten." "Oh, I know--I understand.

When they come to crosses and candlesticks, the next step to the glory of Mary is a very easy one.
I would sooner send a young man to Rome than to Oxford.

At the one he might be shocked and disgusted; but at the other he is cajoled, and cheated, and ruined." And then Mrs.Townsend threw herself back in her chair, and threw her eyes up towards the ceiling.
But there was no hypocrisy or pretence in this expression of her feelings.

She did in her heart of hearts believe that there was some college or club of papists at Oxford, emissaries of the Pope or of the Jesuits.

In her moments of sterner thought the latter were the enemies she most feared; whereas, when she was simply pervaded by her usual chronic hatred of the Irish Roman Catholic hierarchy, she was wont to inveigh most against the Pope.