“Oh, Denison will be all right. He knows it’s a Deanery.”
“Will the others know it’s a Deanery, too?”
Eddy, to say the truth, had a shade of doubt as to that. They were both so innocent. Arnold had learnt a little at Cambridge about the attitude of the superior clergy, and what not to say to them, though he knew more than he always practised. Jane had been at Somerville College, Oxford, but this particular branch of learning is not taught there. Eileen had never adorned any institution for the higher education. Her father was an Irish poet, and the editor of a Nationalist paper, and did not like any of the many Deans of his acquaintance. In Ireland, Deans and Nationalists do not always see eye to eye. Eddy hoped that Eileen had not any hereditary distaste for the profession.
“Father and mother’ll think it funny, Mrs. Le Moine not living with her husband,” said Daphne, who had that insight into her parents’ minds which comes of twenty years co-residence.
Eddy was afraid they would.
“But it’s not funny, really, and they’ll soon see it’s quite all right. They’ll like her, I know. Everyone who knows her does.”
He remembered as he spoke that Hillier didn’t, and James Peters didn’t much. But surely the Dean wouldn’t be found on any point in agreement with Hillier, or even with the cheery, unthinking Peters, innocent of the Higher Criticism. Perhaps it might be diplomatic to tell the Dean that these two young clergymen didn’t much like Eileen Le Moine.
While Eddy ruminated on this question, they reached the Hall. The Hall was that type of hall they erected in the days of our earlier Georges; it had risen on the site of an Elizabethan house belonging to the same family. This is mentioned in order to indicate that the Bellairs’ had long been of solid worth in the country. In themselves, they were pleasant, hospitable, clean-bred, active people, of a certain charm, which those susceptible to all kinds of charm, like Eddy, felt keenly. Finally, none of them were clever, all of them were nicely dressed, and most of them were on the lawn, hitting at a captive golf-ball, which was one of the many things they did well, though it is at best an unsatisfactory occupation, achieving little in the way of showy results. They left it readily to welcome Eddy and Daphne.
Dick (the Guards) said, “Hullo, old man, home for Christmas? Good for you. Come and shoot on Wednesday, will you? Not a parson yet, then?”
Daphne said, “He’s off that just now.”