The Last Chronicle of Barset [85]
settle it in Lincoln's Inn Fields.' Poor Lily, who was standing on the hearth-rug, touched her mother's arms. She knew Johnny's name was lugged in with reference to Lady Julia's money altogether for her benefit. 'I wonder whether she had a Johnny of her own,' she said to her mother, 'and if so, whether she liked it when her friends sent the town-crier round to talk about him.'
'She means to be good-natured,' said Mrs Dale.
'Of course she does. But it is such a pity when people won't understand.'
'My uncle didn't bite you after all, Grace,' said Lily to her friend as they were going home at night, by the pathway which led from the garden of one house to the garden of the other.
'I like Mr Dale very much,' said Grace. 'He was very kind to me.'
'There is some queer-looking animal of whom they say that he is better than he looks, and I always think of that saying when I think of my uncle.'
'For shame, Lily,' said her mother. 'Your uncle, for his age, is as good looking a man as I know. And he always looks like just what he is--an English gentleman.'
'I didn't mean to say a word against his dear old face and figure, mamma; but his heart and mind, and general disposition, as they come out in experience and days of trial, are so much better than the samples of them which he puts out on the counter for men and women to judge by. He wears well, and he washes well --if you know what I mean, Grace.'
'Yes; I think I know what you mean.'
'The Apollos of the world--I don't mean in outward looks, mamma --but the Apollos in heart, the men--and the women too--who are so full of feeling, so soft-natured, so kind, who never say a cross word, who never get out of bed on the wrong side in the morning--it so often turns out that they won't wash.'
Such was the expression of Miss Dale's experience.
CHAPTER XVII
MR CRAWLEY IS SUMMONED TO BARCHESTER
The scene which occurred in Hogglestock church on the Sunday after Mr Thumble's first visit to the parish had not been described with accuracy either by the archdeacon in his letter to his son, or by Mrs Thorne. There had been no footman from the palace in attendance on Mr Thumble, nor had there been a battle with the brickmakers; neither had Mr Thumble been put under the pump. But Mr Thumble had gone over, taking his gown and surplice with him, on the Sunday morning, and had intimated to Mr Crawley his intention of performing the service. Mr Crawley, in answer to this, had assured Mr Thumble that he would not be allowed to open his mouth in the church; and Mr Thumble, not seeing his way to any further successful action, had contented himself with attending the services in his surplice, making thereby a silent protest that he, and not Mr Crawley, ought to have been in the reading-desk and the pulpit.
When Mr Trumble reported himself and his failure to the palace, he strove hard to avoid seeing Mrs Proudie, but not successfully. He knew something of the palace habits, and did manage to reach the bishop alone on the Sunday evening, justifying himself to his lordship for such an interview by the remarkable circumstances of the case and the importance of his late mission. Mrs Proudie always went to church on Sunday evenings, making a point of hearing three services and three sermons every Sunday of her life. On week-days she seldom heard any, having an idea that week-day services were an invention of the High Church enemy, and that they should therefore be vehemently discouraged. Services on saints' days she regarded as rank papacy, and had been known to accuse a clergyman's wife to her face, of idolatry because the poor lady had dated a letter, St John's Eve. Mr Thumble, on this Sunday evening, was successful in finding the bishop at home, and alone, but he was not lucky enough to get away before Mrs Proudie returned. The bishop, perhaps, thought that the story of the failure had better reach his wife's ears from Mr Thumble's lips than from his own.
'Well, Mr Thumble?' said Mrs Proudie, walking into the study, armed in her full Sunday-evening winter panoply,
'She means to be good-natured,' said Mrs Dale.
'Of course she does. But it is such a pity when people won't understand.'
'My uncle didn't bite you after all, Grace,' said Lily to her friend as they were going home at night, by the pathway which led from the garden of one house to the garden of the other.
'I like Mr Dale very much,' said Grace. 'He was very kind to me.'
'There is some queer-looking animal of whom they say that he is better than he looks, and I always think of that saying when I think of my uncle.'
'For shame, Lily,' said her mother. 'Your uncle, for his age, is as good looking a man as I know. And he always looks like just what he is--an English gentleman.'
'I didn't mean to say a word against his dear old face and figure, mamma; but his heart and mind, and general disposition, as they come out in experience and days of trial, are so much better than the samples of them which he puts out on the counter for men and women to judge by. He wears well, and he washes well --if you know what I mean, Grace.'
'Yes; I think I know what you mean.'
'The Apollos of the world--I don't mean in outward looks, mamma --but the Apollos in heart, the men--and the women too--who are so full of feeling, so soft-natured, so kind, who never say a cross word, who never get out of bed on the wrong side in the morning--it so often turns out that they won't wash.'
Such was the expression of Miss Dale's experience.
CHAPTER XVII
MR CRAWLEY IS SUMMONED TO BARCHESTER
The scene which occurred in Hogglestock church on the Sunday after Mr Thumble's first visit to the parish had not been described with accuracy either by the archdeacon in his letter to his son, or by Mrs Thorne. There had been no footman from the palace in attendance on Mr Thumble, nor had there been a battle with the brickmakers; neither had Mr Thumble been put under the pump. But Mr Thumble had gone over, taking his gown and surplice with him, on the Sunday morning, and had intimated to Mr Crawley his intention of performing the service. Mr Crawley, in answer to this, had assured Mr Thumble that he would not be allowed to open his mouth in the church; and Mr Thumble, not seeing his way to any further successful action, had contented himself with attending the services in his surplice, making thereby a silent protest that he, and not Mr Crawley, ought to have been in the reading-desk and the pulpit.
When Mr Trumble reported himself and his failure to the palace, he strove hard to avoid seeing Mrs Proudie, but not successfully. He knew something of the palace habits, and did manage to reach the bishop alone on the Sunday evening, justifying himself to his lordship for such an interview by the remarkable circumstances of the case and the importance of his late mission. Mrs Proudie always went to church on Sunday evenings, making a point of hearing three services and three sermons every Sunday of her life. On week-days she seldom heard any, having an idea that week-day services were an invention of the High Church enemy, and that they should therefore be vehemently discouraged. Services on saints' days she regarded as rank papacy, and had been known to accuse a clergyman's wife to her face, of idolatry because the poor lady had dated a letter, St John's Eve. Mr Thumble, on this Sunday evening, was successful in finding the bishop at home, and alone, but he was not lucky enough to get away before Mrs Proudie returned. The bishop, perhaps, thought that the story of the failure had better reach his wife's ears from Mr Thumble's lips than from his own.
'Well, Mr Thumble?' said Mrs Proudie, walking into the study, armed in her full Sunday-evening winter panoply,