"He had promised to marry Hawkins' daughter." Hawkins was the Brotherton bookseller on the Low Church side. "And then he denied the promise. Unfortunately he had written letters, and Hawkins took them to the Bishop. I should have thought Groschut would have been too sharp to write letters."
"But what was all that to the Bishop?" asked Lord George.
"The Bishop was, I think, just a little tired of him. The Bishop is old and meek, and Mr. Groschut thought that he could domineer. He did not quite know his man. The Bishop is old and meek, and would have borne much. When Mr. Groschut scolded him, I fancy that he said nothing. But he bided his time; and when Mr. Hawkins came, then there was a decision pronounced. It was Pugsty, or nothing."
"Is Pugsty very nasty, papa?"
"It isn't very nice, I fancy. It just borders on the Potteries, and
the population is heavy. As he must marry the bookseller's daughter also, the union, I fear, won't be very grateful."
"I don't see why a bishop should send a bad man to any
parish," suggested Lady Sarah.
"What is he to do with a Groschut, when he has unfortunately got hold of one? He couldn't be turned out to starve. The Bishop would never have been rid of him. A small living—some such thing as Pugsty—was almost a necessity."
"But the people," said Lady Sarah. "What is to become of the poor people?"