“Mrs. Arabin told me that she was so anxious you should go to them,” said Mrs. Robarts.
“Ah, yes; but that I fear is impossible. The children, you know, Mrs. Robarts.”
“I would take care of two of them for you.”
“Oh, no; I could not punish you for your goodness in that way. But he would not go. He could go and leave me at home. Sometimes I have thought that it might be so, and I have done all in my power to persuade him. I have told him that if he could mix once more with the world, with the clerical world, you know, that he would be better fitted for the performance of his own duties. But he answers me angrily, that it is impossible—that his coat is not fit for the dean’s table,” and Mrs. Crawley almost blushed as she spoke of such a reason.
“What! with an old friend like Dr. Arabin? Surely that must be nonsense.”
“I know that it is. The dean would be glad to see him with any coat. But the fact is that he cannot bear to enter the house of a rich man unless his duty calls him there.”
“But surely that is a mistake?”
“It is a mistake. But what can I do? I fear that he regards the rich as his enemies. He is pining for the solace of some friend to whom he could talk—for some equal, with a mind educated like his own, to whose thoughts he could listen, and to whom he could speak his own thoughts. But such a friend must be equal, not only in mind, but in purse; and where can he ever find such a man as that?”
“But you may get better preferment.”
“Ah, no; and if he did, we are hardly fit for it now. If I could think that I could educate my children; if I could only do something for my poor Grace—”