“A very convenient maxim for you, but not so practicable for an incumbent with a large family and a short income as for the landlord of Dullerton,” said Mr. Langrove good-humoredly.
The baronet winced.
“Prudence and economy are all very well,” he replied, “but they may be carried too far; your health is worth more to you than any amount of money. If you want the change, you should take it and pay the price.”
“I suppose we might have most things, if we choose to take them on those terms,” remarked the vicar. “‘Take it and pay the price!’ says the poet; but some prices are too high for any value. Who would do my work while I was off looking after my health? Is that Bourbonais hurrying up the hill? He will get drenched; he has no umbrella.”
“Like him to go out a day like this without one,” said Sir Simon in an accent of fond petulance. “How is he? How is Franceline? How does she look?”
“Poorly enough. If she were my child, I should be very uneasy about her.”
“Ha! does Bourbonais seem uneasy? Do you see much of him?”
“No; not through my fault, nor indeed through his. We have each our separate work, and these winter days are short. I met him this morning coming out of Blink’s as I went in. I did not like his look; he had his hat pulled over his eyes, and when I spoke to him he answered me as if he hardly knew who I was or what he was saying.”
“And you did not ask if there was anything amiss?” said Sir Simon in a tone of reproach.