"I do hope you'll be firm about Gus," said Mrs. Stantiloup to Mrs. Momson. "If we're not to put down this kind of thing, what is the good of having any morals in the country at all? We might just as well live like pagans, and do without any marriage services, as they do in so many parts of the United States."
"I wonder what the Bishop does think about it?" asked Mrs. Momson of the Bishop's wife.
"It makes him very unhappy; I know that," said Mrs. Rolland. "Of course he cannot interfere about the school. As for licensing the gentleman as a curate, that was of course quite out of the question."
At this moment Mr. Momson, the clergyman, and the Bishop came into the room, and were offered, as is usual on such occasions, cold tea and the remains of the buttered toast. The squire was not there. Had he been with the other gentlemen, Mrs. Stantiloup, violent as she was, would probably have held her tongue; but as he was absent, the opportunity was not bad for attacking the Bishop on the subject under discussion. "We were talking, my lord, about the Bowick school."
Now the Bishop was a man who could be very confidential with one lady, but was apt to be guarded when men are concerned. To any one of those present he might have said what he thought, had no one else been there to hear. That would have been the expression of a private opinion; but to speak before the four would have been tantamount to a public declaration.
"About the Bowick school?" said he; "I hope there is nothing going wrong with the Bowick school."
"You must have heard about Mr. Peacocke," said Lady Margaret.
"Yes; I have certainly heard of Mr. Peacocke. He, I believe, has left Dr. Wortle's seminary."
"But she remains!" said Mrs. Stantiloup, with tragic energy.
"So I understand;—in the house; but not as part of the establishment."