‘Under Mr. Charlecote—yes.’
‘You are the depository of his traditions,’ said Honor, ‘hand them on to Robert. I wish nothing better for Owen.’
Mr. Parsons wished something better for himself, and averted a reply, by speaking of Robert as accepted.
Robert’s next request was to be made useful in the parish, while preparing for his ordination in the autumn Ember week; and though there were demurs as to unnecessarily anticipating the strain on health and strength, he obtained his wish in mercy to a state only to be alleviated by the realities of labour.
So few difficulties were started by his family, that Honora suspected that Mr. Fulmort, always chiefly occupied by what was immediately before him, hardly realized that by taking an assistant curacy at St. Wulstan’s, his son became one of the pastors of Whittington-streets, great and little, Richard-courts, Cicely-row, Alice-lane, Cat-alley, and Turnagain-corner. Scarcely, however, was this settled, when a despatch arrived from Dublin, headed, ‘The Fast Fly Fishers; or the modern St. Kevin,’ containing in Ingoldsby legend-like rhymes the entire narration of the Glendalough predicament of the ‘Fast and Fair,’ and concluding with a piece of prose, by the same author, assuring his Sweet Honey, that the poem, though strange, was true, that he had just seen the angelic anglers on board the steamer, and it would not be for lack of good advice on his part, if Lucy did not present herself at Woolstone-lane, to partake of the dish called humble pie, on the derivation whereof antiquaries were divided.
Half amused, half vexed by his levity, and wholly relieved and hopeful, Honora could not help showing Owen’s performance to Phœbe for the sake of its cleverness; but she found the child too young and simple to enter into it, for the whole effect was an entreaty that Robert might not see it, only hear the facts.
Rather annoyed by this want of appreciation of Owen’s wit, Honora saw, nevertheless, that Phœbe had come to a right conclusion. The breach was not likely to be diminished by finding that the wilful girl had exposed herself to ridicule, and the Fulmort nature had so little sense of the ludicrous, that this good-natured brotherly satire would be taken for mere derision.
So Honor left it to Phœbe to give her own version, only wishing that the catastrophe had come to his knowledge before his arrangements had been made with Mr. Parsons.
Phœbe had some difficulty in telling her story. Robert at first silenced her peremptorily, but after ten minutes relented, and said, moodily, ‘Well, let me hear!’ He listened without relaxing a muscle of his rigid countenance; and when Phœbe ended by saying that Miss Charlecote had ordered Lucy’s room to be prepared, thinking that she might present herself at any moment, he said, ‘Take care that you warn me when she comes. I shall leave town that minute.’
‘Robert, Robert, if she come home grieved and knowing better—’