“Who can she be?” said the Doctor to himself. Such an experience as this he had not known since he had been rector. Langborough did not deal in ideas. It was content to affirm that Miss Tarrant now and then gave herself airs, that Mrs. Sweeting had a way of her own, that Mr. Cobb lacked spirit and was downtrodden by his wife.
She returned and sat down again.
“You know nobody in these parts, Mrs. Fairfax?”
“Nobody.”
“Yours is a bold venture, is it not?”
“It is—certainly. A good many plans were projected, of which this was one, and there were equal difficulties in the way of all. When that is the case we may almost as well draw lots.”
“Ah, that is what I often say to some of the weaker sort among my parishioners. I said it to poor Cobb the other day. He did not know whether he should do this or do that. ‘It doesn’t matter much,’ said I, ‘what you do, but do something. Do it, with all your strength.’”
The Doctor was thoroughly Tory, and he slid away to his favourite doctrine.
“Our ancestors, madam, were not such fools as we often take them to be. They consulted the sortes or lots, and at the last election—we have a potwalloping constituency here—three parts of the voters would have done better if they had trusted to the toss-up of a penny instead of their reason.”
Mrs. Fairfax leaned back in her chair. Dr. Midleton noticed her wedding-ring, and also a handsome sapphire ring. She spoke rather slowly and meditatively.