“It is Sir Robert Tenby’s seat—Bellwood. Your landlord, sir.”
“Ay, to be sure—Bellwood. In my time it was Sir George’s, though.”
“Sir George died five or six years ago.”
“Has Sir Robert any family? He must be middle-aged now.”
“I think he is forty-five, or so. He is not married.”
“Does he chiefly live here?”
“About half his time; the rest he spends at his house in London, He lives very quietly. We all like Sir Robert.”
We sat in the Rector’s pew, having it to ourselves. Herbert Tanerton did the duty, and gave a good sermon. Nobody was yet appointed to the vacant living, which was in Sir Hubert Tenby’s gift. Herbert, meanwhile, took charge of the parish, and many people thought he would get it—as he did, later.
The Bellwood pew faced the Rector’s, and Sir Robert sat in it alone. A fine-looking man, with greyish hair, and a homely face that you took to at once. He seemed to pay the greatest attention to Herbert Tanerton’s sermon; possibly was deliberating whether he was worthy of the living, or not. In the pew behind him sat Mrs. Macbean, an old lady who had been housekeeper at Bellwood during two generations; and the Bellwood servants sat further down.
We were talking to Herbert Tanerton outside the church after service, when Sir Robert came up and spoke to the parson. He, Herbert, introduced Dr. Lewis to him as the late Rector’s brother. Sir Robert shook hands with him at once, smiled pleasantly at Anne, and nodded to me as he continued his way.