Cheriton scorned her openly.
“You perverse woman,” said he, “why are you so blind? Here is a triumph that will ring through the town. Are you prepared to identify yourself with it or are you not?”
Caroline Crewkerne subjected her niece to a second prolonged and severe scrutiny.
“Humph,” said she, ungraciously.
However, she was a very shrewd old woman. Further, she was a very clear-sighted old woman, who knew herself to be what Cheriton did not hesitate to proclaim her. She was a philistine. Upon any matter which impinged upon life’s amenities she was far too wise to trust her own judgment. Cheriton, on the other hand, in spite of an inclination towards the bizarre and the freakish, she allowed to have taste.
“I shall go to church,” she announced to her gentlewoman.
She spoke as if she were flinging down a gauntlet.
The Church of Saint Sepulchre, as the elect do not need to be told, is quite near to Hill Street. Caroline Crewkerne was ready to start ten minutes before the service began.
“Easy, Caroline,” said Cheriton, studying his watch reflectively; “there is no hurry.”
“Even if they bore one,” said Caroline, “it is not good manners to be disrespectful to the officiating clergy.”