“Most likely they think it the correct thing, the grain which they must swallow with our benefits; but for that very reason it injures the whole tone, and prevents them learning independence. Put it in that light; I know you can.”
“I don’t think Anne would understand,” said Cecil, somewhat flattered.
“I doubt whether there are three women in the neighbourhood who would,” said Lady Tyrrell.
“People always think charity—how I hate the word!—a means of forcing their own tenets down the throats of the poor,” said Mrs. Duncombe. “And certainly this neighbourhood is as narrow as any I ever saw. Nobody but you and—shall I say the present company?—has any ideas. I wonder how they will receive Clio Tallboys and her husband?”
“Ah! you have not heard about them,” said Lady Tyrrell. “Most delightful people, whom Mrs. Duncombe met on the Righi. He is a Cambridge professor.”
“Taillebois—I don’t remember the name,” said Cecil, “and we know a great many Cambridge men. We went to a Commencement there.”
“Oh, not Cambridge on the Cam! the American Cambridge,” said Mrs. Duncombe. “He is a quiet, inoffensive man, great on political economy; but his wife is the character. Wonderfully brilliant and original, and such a lecturer!”
“Ladies’ lectures would startle the natives,” said Lady Tyrrell.
“Besides, the town-hall is lacking,” said Mrs. Duncombe; “but when the Tallboys come we might arrange a succession of soirées, where she might gather her audience.”
“But where?” said Lady Tyrrell. “It would be great fun, and you might reckon on me; but where else? Mrs. Charnock Poynsett has to think of la belle mère.”