“I think it will be a success. He has taken Mr. Deane round the garden.”
“I wonder, Ellen, if we ought not to have let him remain in the Guards. He showed no tendency to drink when he was with his regiment, so far as I know.”
Mrs. Stamford’s mouth set into those firm lines her husband knew so well.
“It was his duty to come home and look after things when your accident made you unable to do so. He will be master here. He must learn how to manage the estate.”
Mr. Stamford smiled at his wife, and it could be seen then whence Dick’s weakness came.
“You wanted him home, Ellen, and so did I.”
“I should never have suggested it if I had not thought it the right thing,” said Mrs. Stamford, flushing a little.
“Of course not—of course not,” agreed her husband. “Young companionship is all he needs, and I think Mr. Deane will supply that deficiency. It was his open look and pleasant, manly tone that struck me when I first heard him preach. ‘Just the sort of young fellow to make a nice companion for Dick,’ I said to myself.” He rubbed his hands together as he repeated this little story for the hundredth time, after the manner of people who live deep in the country and have little to talk about. “I went straight to my cousin after the service and asked if the lad wouldn’t do for us.”
“Your cousin thought it an unsuitable appointment. He wanted you to take the senior curate,” said Mrs. Stamford, “and in some ways he was quite right. Of course this boy can’t preach.”
“No.” Mr. Stamford chuckled. “I believe, though, he thinks he got the living on account of that sermon about Saul.”