“You are always looking forward,” replied the Rev. James, pettishly. “I’m busy, I’ve my sermon to finish.”
“The sermon can wait, and is of no consequence; but Rachel’s future is. You must speak to the squire about it at once.”
“I consider it would be absolutely indecent, Sarah, to do so at present.”
“That’s all very fine, but the poor old man may take a fit any day, and then where should we be—with a new madam at the Hall, after all Rachel has gone through?”
“She always seemed right enough till the poor lad died.”
“Still, she married an old man, and should therefore have the benefit of it.”
“Well, wait until the poor boy is in his grave, at any rate.”
“Dilatory as usual! I always said, James, you would never get on, because you are not pushing enough. You do not court the bishop like the other greedy parsons, and just look where you are. At sixty-nine, in a small vicarage like Woodlea, with under four hundred a year! You can not expect me to have patience; and how about poor Rachel? You’ll allow this young man, John Temple, to come down to the funeral, and perhaps obtain power over a silly old man, and your own daughter may be left out in the cold! And all because you won’t speak a few words, and insist on the Hall being settled on her.”
“Speak yourself,” said Mr. Layton, impatiently.
“I would at once, only I know he won’t listen to me. He’s got some stupid grudge into his silly old head, and never consults me about anything. You are the person to do it, and you must do it.”