"You do the like of us great honor, Mr. Dale—take a chair! You call upon business?"
"Of which I have apprised you by letter, Mr. Avenel."
"My husband is very poorly."
"A poor creature!" said John feebly, and as if in compassion of himself. "I can't get about as I used to do. But it ben't near election time, be it, sir."
"No, John," said Mrs. Avenel, placing her husband's arm within her own. "You must lie down a bit, while I talk to the gentleman."
"I'm a real good blue," said poor John; "but I ain't quite the man I was;" and, leaning heavily on his wife, he left the room, turning round at the threshold, and saying, with, great urbanity—"Any thing to oblige, sir?"
Mr. Dale was much touched. He had remembered John Avenel the comeliest, the most active, and the most cheerful man in Lansmere; great at glee club and cricket (though then stricken in years), greater in vestries; reputed greatest in elections.
"Last scene of all," murmured the Parson; "and oh well, turning from the poet, may we cry with the disbelieving philosopher. 'Poor, poor humanity!'"[14]
In a few minutes Mrs. Avenel returned. She took a chair, at some distance from the Parson's, and, resting one hand on the elbow of the chair, while with the other she stiffly smoothed the stiff gown, she said—
"Now, sir."