“I suppose he has much on his hands; and, I am afraid, my poor old uncle was a hindrance, for he really seemed like a man who had got rid of an incubus when he found that we were willing to do what we could. Then it seems that he was disappointed in Ashley Selby. He thought that, being an inhabitant of the place, the young man would be interested in the people, and make his sisters useful.”
“They!” exclaimed Dora. “They are such fine ladies, who think about nothing but Almack’s, are afraid of the dirt, and of catching all sorts of disorders at the cottages.”
“I can hardly get Dora to be moderately civil to them,” said Mary.
“Yes,” said Edmund, “parental influence has been strong. The mother fears for health, the father for his game, and the children have grown up to think poachers and their families almost beyond the pale of humanity. It has been too much for this young man, who simply acquiesced in the way in which he was bred. However, this will come to an end, for the present holder of the family living has had a paralytic stroke, and wants him to come and assist. I fully believe that he may do much better away from home habits, especially under a good incumbent.”
“And what is to happen to us?” inquired Mary.
“Dr Fogram says that he will send us one of the Fellows of his college—a young man full of zeal, who is eager for parochial work, and has been taking duty at a parish some miles from Oxford. He thinks we shall be satisfied with the change.”
“As if we were the people to be satisfied,” cried Dora. “Just confess, Edmund, that the old gentleman did not think the place worth attending to till educated gentlefolk came to live in it.”
“Say, rather, that he really did not know the deficiencies,” said the captain, “till they were brought before him.”
“Then he ought,” muttered Dora.
“Judge not,” whispered Mary, who was a reverent person.