“I always told you so, if you would but believe it. They have warm, sound hearts, every one of them! I declare, I did not know which way to look, I was so sorry to disappoint them.”
“Disappoint them!” cried Margaret, in consternation.
“I was thinking,” said Ethel. “I do not believe Richard would think himself equal to this place in such a state as it is. He is so diffident.”
“Yes,” said Dr. May, “if he were ten or twelve years older, it would be another thing; but here, where everything is to be done, he would not bring weight or force enough. He would only work himself to death, for individuals, without going to the root. Margaret, my darling, I am very sorry to have disappointed you so much—it would have been as great a pleasure as we could have had in this world to have the lad here—”
“And Cocksmoor,” sighed Ethel.
“I shall be grateful all my life to those good people for thinking of it,” continued the doctor; “but look you here, it was my business to get the best man chosen in my power and, though as to goodness, I believe the dear Ritchie has not many equals; I don’t think we can conscientiously say he would be, at present, the best vicar for Stoneborough.”
Ethel would not say no, for fear she should pain Margaret.
“Besides,” continued Dr. May, “after having staved off the sale of the presentation as a sin, it would hardly have been handsome to have let my own son profit by it. It would have seemed as if we had our private ends, when Richard helped poor old Mr. Ramsden.”
Margaret owned this, and Ethel said Richard would be glad to be spared the refusal.
“I was sure of it. The poor fellow would have been perplexed between the right and consideration for us. A vicar here ought to carry things with a high hand, and that is hardest to do at a man’s own home, especially for a quiet lad like him.”