He could not conceive himself as likely to be either useful or happy amid the hustling commercialism of the Manchester streets or the staid proprieties of an Anglican vicarage.
After he had spent about a week in his new lodging, Father Moran called on him.

The priest sat beside the fire for more than an hour chatting in a desultory manner.

He drank tea and smoked, and it was not until he rose to go that the real object of his visit appeared.
'I don't know what you're thinking of doing, Mr.Conneally, and maybe I've no right to ask.' 'I wouldn't have the least objection to telling you,' said Hyacinth, 'if I knew myself; but I haven't my mind made up.' The priest put down his hat again, and settled himself with his back to the fire and his hands in his pockets.

Hyacinth sat down, and during the pause which followed contemplated the wonderful number and variety of the stains on the black waistcoat in front of him.
'Then you've given up the idea of finishing your divinity course ?' said the priest.

'I'm not blaming you in the least.