Part 13 (1/2)

”But I am not fond of fine people--nor have I so many acquaintances.”

”Oh, you Oxford dons know everybody. They all pa.s.s through your hands.

Come along, it will be quite a pleasure for my wife to see you.

Adelaide, I am bringing you some one who will be a surprise to you as well as a pleasure. Mr. Mildmay, our new rector, my dear.”

”Our new rector!” Mrs. Ascott said, with a subdued outcry of surprise.

She was seated in a corner of a large light room with three or four large windows looking out upon a charming lawn and garden, beyond which appeared the tufted undulations of the common, and the smooth green turf and white posts of the race-ground. With a house like this, looking out upon so interesting a spot, no one need be surprised that Mrs. Ascott's fine friends ”kept her up,” and that for at least one week in the year she was as popular and sought after as any queen. Though it was only one week in the year, it had a certain influence upon her manners. She lived all the year through in a state of reflected glory from this brief but ever-recurring climax of existence. The air of conferring a favour, the look of gracious politeness, yet preoccupation, which suited a woman over-balanced by the claims of many candidates for her hospitality, never departed from her. She gave that little cry of surprise just as she would have done had her husband brought a stranger to her to see if she could give him a bed for the race week. ”I am delighted to make Mr.

Mildmay's acquaintance,” she said; ”but, my dear, I thought there was going to be an effort made for poor Mr. St. John?” This was in a lower tone, as she might have said, ”But there is only one spare room, and that I have promised to Mr. St. John.” Her husband laughed.

”I told you, my dear, that was nonsense. What do ladies know of such matters? They talked of some foolish pet.i.tion or other to the Lord Chancellor, as if the Lord Chancellor had anything to do with it! You may be very thankful you had me behind you, my dear, to keep you from such a foolish mistake. No; Mr. Mildmay has it, and I am very glad. The dons have done themselves credit by their choice, and we are in great luck. I hope you will not be like your predecessor, Mr. Mildmay, and take a dislike to the parish. We must do our best, Adelaide, to prevent that.”

”Indeed, I hope so,” said the lady. ”I am sure I am delighted. I think I have met some relations of yours, Mr. Mildmay--the Hamptons of Thornbury? Yes; I felt sure I had heard them mention you. You recollect, Henry, they lunched with us here the year before last, on the cup day?

They came with Lady Teddington--charming people. And you know all the Teddingtons, of course? What a nice family they are! We see a great deal of Lord Charles, who is often in this neighbourhood. His dear mother is often rather anxious about him. I fear--I fear he is just a little disposed to be what you gentlemen call fast.”

”We gentlemen don't mince our words,” said her husband; ”rowdy young scamp, that is what I call him; bad lot.”

”You are very severe, Henry--very severe--except when it is a favourite of your own. How glad I am we are getting some one we know to the rectory. When do you take possession, Mr. Mildmay? We shall be quite near neighbours, and will see a great deal of you, I hope.”

”I do not feel quite sure, since I have been here, whether I will come to the rectory at all,” said Mildmay. ”Mr. St. John was so hasty in his announcement, that I feel myself a swindler coming here under false pretences. I have not made up my mind whether I will accept the living or not.”

”Since you have been here? Then you don't like the place,” said Mr.

Ascott. ”I must say I am surprised. I think you are hasty, as well as St. John. Poor Chester, to be sure, did not like it, but that was because he thought it did not agree with him. The greatest nonsense! it is as healthy a place as any in England; it has a hundred advantages.

Perhaps this sort of thing mayn't suit you as a clergyman,” he said, waving his hand towards the distant race-course; ”but it gives a great deal of life to the place.”

”And so near town,” said Mrs. Ascott; ”and such nice people in the neighbourhood! Indeed, Mr. Mildmay, you must let us persuade you; you must really stay.”

”Come, now,” cried her husband, ”let's talk it over. What's your objection? Depend upon it, Adelaide, it is those pets of yours, the St.

John's who have been putting nonsense into his head.”

”Poor things, what do they know!” said Mrs. Ascott, with a sigh. ”But indeed, Mr. Mildmay, now that we have seen you, and have a chance of some one we can like, with such nice connections, we cannot let you go.”

This was all very flattering and pleasant. ”You are extremely kind,”

said Mildmay. ”I must put it to the credit of my relations, for I have no right to so much kindness. No, it is not any objection to the place.

It is a still stronger objection. I heard Mrs. Ascott herself speak of some effort to be made for Mr. St. John----”

”I--what did I say?” cried the lady. ”Mr. St. John? Yes, I was sorry, of course; very sorry.”

”It was all nonsense,” said the husband. ”I told her so. She never meant it; only what could she say to the girls when they appealed to her? She is a soft-hearted goose--eh, Adelaide? One prefers women to be so. But as for old St. John, it is sheer nonsense. Poor old fellow! yes, I am sorry for him. But whose fault is it? He knew Chester's life was not worth _that_; yet he has hung on, taking no trouble, doing nothing for himself. It is not your part or our part to bother our minds for a man who does nothing for himself.”

”That is true enough,” said Mildmay; ”but his long services to the parish, his age, his devotion to his work--it does not seem right. I don't say for you or for me, but in the abstract----”

”Devotion?” said Mr. Ascott. ”Oh yes; he has done his work well enough, I suppose. That's what is called devotion when a man dies or goes away.

Yes, oh yes, we may allow him the credit of that, the poor old fogey, but--yes, oh yes, a good old fellow enough. When you have said that, there's no more to say. Perhaps in the abstract it was a shame that Chester should have the lion's share of the income, and St. John all the work; but that's all over; and as for any hesitation of yours on his account----”

”It may be foolish,” said the young man, ”but I do hesitate--I cannot help feeling that there is a great wrong involved--to Mr. St. John, of course, in the first place--but without even thinking of any individual, it is a sort of thing that must injure the Church; and I don't like to be the instrument of injuring the Church.”

”Tut--tut--tut!” said Mr. Ascott; ”your conscience is too tender by far.”