Part 10 (1/2)
”Possibly I shall not stay much longer,” he added.
”No doubt you'll take a living.”
”I don't know. I don't know. But, in any case, I may not stay much longer--perhaps. That will do, Ellen; you may go and fetch the mutton.
Put the claret on the table, please.”
When the maid was gone, he added:
”One doesn't want a servant in the room listening to all one says. As she was standing behind me I had forgotten she was here. How it rains to-night! I hate the sound of rain.”
”It is dismal,” said Malling, thinking of his depression while he had walked to Hornton Street.
”Do you mind,” said the curate, slightly lowering his voice, ”if I speak rather--rather confidentially to you?”
”Not at all, if you wish to--”
”Well, now, you are a man of the world, you've seen many people. I wish you would tell me something.”
”What is it?”
Ellen appeared with the mutton. As soon as she had put it on the table and departed, Chichester continued:
”How does Mr. Harding strike you? What impression does he make upon you?”
Eagerness, even more, something that was surely anxiety, shone in his eyes as he asked the question.
”He's a very agreeable man.”
”Of course, of course! Would you say he was a man to have much power over others, his fellow-men?”
”Speaking quite confidentially--”
”Nothing you say shall ever go beyond us two.”
”Then--I don't know that I should.”
”He doesn't strike you as a man of power?”
”In the pulpit?”
”And out of it--especially out of it?”
”He may have been. But--perhaps he has lost in power. Dispersion, you know, does not make for strength.”
Suddenly the curate became very pale.
”Dispersion--you say!” he almost stammered.
As if to cover some emotion, he looked at Malling's plate, and added:
”Have some more? You won't? Then--”