“It was ill-natured of Sowerby to say the fag end,” said Robarts. “We divided the matter into thirds. Harold Smith took the first part, I the last——”
“And the lady the intervening portion. You have electrified the county between you; but I am told that she had the best of it.”
“I was so sorry that Mr. Robarts went there,” said Lady Lufton, as she walked into the dining-room leaning on the archdeacon’s arm.
“I am inclined to think he could not very well have helped himself,” said the archdeacon, who was never willing to lean heavily on a brother parson, unless on one who had utterly and irrevocably gone away from his side of the church.
“Do you think not, archdeacon?”
“Why, no: Sowerby is a friend of Lufton’s——”
“Not particularly,” said poor Lady Lufton, in a deprecating tone.
“Well, they have been intimate; and Robarts, when he was asked to preach at Chaldicotes, could not well refuse.”
“But then he went afterwards to Gatherum Castle. Not that I am vexed with him at all now, you understand. But it is such a dangerous house, you know.”
“So it is.—But the very fact of the duke’s wishing to have a clergyman there, should always be taken as a sign of grace, Lady Lufton. The air was impure, no doubt; but it was less impure with Robarts there than it would have been without him. But, gracious heavens! what blasphemy have I been saying about impure air? Why, the bishop was there!”