"The fact is," observed Mr. Clendon, with mock solemnity, "that when my worthy friend can get our labourers to descant learnedly on Claude Lorraine, Michael Angelo, and Titian, read and appreciate George Meredith's novels--of whom, Tobias, I have heard you speak--and understand the advanced school of music, of which I myself know nothing, he will have accomplished his life's work."
"It would be a worthy career for a man," said Gelthrip, energetically.
"So I think," remarked Mrs. Belswin, dryly; "but if you make all your labourers so learned, Mr. Gelthrip, I'm afraid they won't do much work. Instead of hedging and ditching, they will take to admiring the sunsets."
"And to analysing the music of the lark."
"Or comparing the latest novelist's description of Nature to the disadvantage of the real thing."
Mr. Gelthrip bore all this sarcasm with equanimity, smiling benignly all the time. He was an enthusiast on the subject, and had a hide impervious to shafts of ridicule, however skilfully launched. His scheme was simple. Sir Rupert had plenty of money, and, judging from his daughter's description, seemed to be philanthropically inclined. Mr. Gelthrip had full power in the parish--as his superior was too much taken up with the middle ages to pay attention to the nineteenth century--so he determined, with the aid of Sir Rupert's money and his own brains, to make Deswarth a model village in the matter of culture and high art. As to religion--well, Mr. Gelthrip was a clergyman, and thought he could mingle religion and high art together so as to make them palatable to his children-of-nature parishioners. Meanwhile his ideas stood in this order: culture, high art, religion. Alas for the possible model parish and the souls of its occupants!
This, however, is talk of futurity; but at present, the ladies, headed by Mrs. Valpy, retired, leaving the four gentlemen to their wine.
"Tobias!" said his father, benevolently--a man must feel benevolent with a glass of '34 port in his hand. "Tobias, to the health of your bride."
"Thank you, father," replied Toby, gratefully, touching his lips with the glass. "Archie! to the future Mrs. Maxwell."
"Ah! Ah!" remarked the old gentleman, smiling. "Has it gone as far as that?"