"It has always failed," said Mrs. Gresley, stung by the slackening of his arm. Yes. In spite of the new baby, she would rather have a hundred a year less than have this woman in the house. The wife ought to come first. By first, Mrs. Gresley meant without a second. She had this morning seen Emma laying Hester's clean clothes on her bed, just returned from a distant washer-woman whom the Gresleys did not employ, and whom they had not wished Hester to employ. The sight of those two white dressing-gowns, beautifully "got up" with goffered frills, had aroused afresh in Mrs. Gresley what she believed to be indignation at Hester's extravagance, an indignation which had been increased when she caught sight of her own untidy wrapper over her chair. She always appeared to disadvantage in Hester's presence. The old smouldering grievance about the washing set a light to other feelings. They caught. They burned. They had been drying in the oven a long time.
"It has always failed," said Mrs. Gresley, with subdued passion, "and it will fail again. I heard you tell Mrs. Loftus that you would never let Hester publish another book like the Idyll. But though you say this one is worse, you won't be able to stop her. You will see when she comes back that she will pack up the parcel and send it back to the publishers, whatever you may say."
The young couple were so absorbed in their conversation that they had not observed the approach of a tall, clerical figure whom the parlor-maid was escorting towards them.
"I saw you through the window, and I said I would join you in the garden," said Archdeacon Thursby, majestically. "I have been lunching with the Pratts. They naturally wished to hear the details of the lamented death of our mutual friend, Lord Newhaven."
Archdeacon Thursby was the clergyman who had been selected, as a friend of Lady Newhaven's, to break to her her husband's death.
"It seems," he added, "that a Miss West, who was at the Abbey at the time, is an intimate friend of the Pratts."
Mrs. Gresley slipped away to order tea, the silver teapot, etc.
The Archdeacon was a friend of Mr. Gresley's. Mr. Gresley had not many friends among the clergy, possibly because he always attributed the popularity of any of his brethren to a laxity of principle on their part, or their success, if they did succeed, to the peculiarly easy circumstances in which they were placed. But he greatly admired the Archdeacon, and made no secret of the fact that, in his opinion, he ought to have been the Bishop of the diocese.
A long conversation now ensued on clerical matters, and Mr. Gresley's drooping spirits revived under a refreshing douche of compliments on "Modern Dissent."
The idea flashed across his mind of asking the Archdeacon's advice regarding Hester's book. His opinion carried weight. His remarks on "Modern Dissent" showed how clear, how statesmanlike his judgment was. Mr. Gresley decided to lay the matter before him, and to consult him as to his responsibility in the matter. The Archdeacon did not know Hester. He did not know—for he lived at a distance of several miles—that Mr. Gresley had a sister who had written a book.