"If Dorinda doesn't mind, yes," replied Hendle, exasperatingly matter of fact.
[CHAPTER II]
THE VICAR
By this time the Squire and his friend were approaching a rickety five-barred gate which stood wide open, as the hinges being useless, it could not easily be shut. Passing through this, they advanced up a wide untidy drive overgrown with grass, and this dismal path conducted them to a weedy stony expanse, girdled by an uncultivated jungle. Flowers, shrubs, herbs, trees, docks and darnels were all mixed up together in a way, suggesting only too clearly the sluggard's garden and almost aggressively presented an aspect of decay. The vicarage thoroughly matched this desolation, although in skilful hands it could have been made into a most charming residence. Carrington viewed this deadly solitude with disgust.
"Are you taking me to see the ruins of Babylon?" he asked, noting that even the blazing sunshine could not impart an aspect of cheerfulness to the place. "Is your vicar an owl or a jackal that he can live here?"
Hendle laughed deeply and pulled at his pipe. "Leigh is too much wrapped up in his hobby to care about the necessaries of life."
"He might care for the decencies, anyway," retorted the barrister. "As the lord of the manor, why don't you insist upon his keeping the place in repair?"
"The living is not in my gift, Carrington, and I have no right to interfere in any way. Leigh is the last descendant of an old family who camped ages ago in this parish. The living is all that remains of what they once possessed, and the vicar exists on a miserable stipend of two hundred a year."
"And you have four thousand per annum.--What about your tithes?"
"Tithes come from land, and save the park I have no land. My grandfather sold what we owned and invested the proceeds in various companies. My income is derived from stocks and shares. My tithe represents a small amount."