“Ah, that’s what you say about another great person. However, he won’t come here to trouble us, I suppose. And then I left her, not in the best temper in the world; for I blazed up too, you must know.”
“I am sure you did,” said Mark, pressing his arm round her waist.
“And then we were going to have a dreadful war, I thought; and I came home and wrote such a doleful letter to you. But what should happen when I had just closed it, but in came her ladyship—all alone, and— But I can’t tell you what she did or said, only she behaved beautifully; just like herself too; so full of love and truth and honesty. There’s nobody like her, Mark; and she’s better than all the dukes that ever wore—whatever dukes do wear.”
“Horns and hoofs; that’s their usual apparel, according to you and Lady Lufton,” said he, remembering what Mr. Sowerby had said of himself.
“You may say what you like about me, Mark, but you shan’t abuse Lady Lufton. And if horns and hoofs mean wickedness and dissipation, I believe it’s not far wrong. But get off your big coat and make yourself comfortable.” And that was all the scolding that Mark Robarts got from his wife on the occasion of his great iniquity.
“I will certainly tell her about this bill transaction,” he said to himself; “but not to-day; not till after I have seen Lufton.” That evening they dined at Framley Court, and there they met the young lord; they found also Lady Lufton still in high good-humour. Lord Lufton himself was a fine, bright-looking young man; not so tall as Mark Robarts, and with perhaps less intelligence marked on his face; but his features were finer, and there was in his countenance a thorough appearance of good-humour and sweet temper. It was, indeed, a pleasant face to look upon, and dearly Lady Lufton loved to gaze at it.
“Well, Mark, So you have been among the Philistines?” that was his lordship’s first remark. Robarts laughed as he took his friend’s hands, and bethought himself how truly that was the case; that he was, in very truth, already “himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.” Alas, alas, it is very hard to break asunder the bonds of the latter-day Philistines. When a Samson does now and then pull a temple down about their ears, is he not sure to be engulfed in the ruin with them? There is no horseleech that sticks so fast as your latter-day Philistine.
“So you have caught Sir George, after all,” said Lady Lufton; and that was nearly all she did say in allusion to his absence. There was afterwards some conversation about the lecture, and from her ladyship’s remarks it certainly was apparent that she did not like the people among whom the vicar had been lately staying; but she said no word that was personal to him himself, or that could be taken as a reproach. The little episode of Mrs. Proudie’s address in the lecture-room had already reached Framley, and it was only to be expected that Lady Lufton should enjoy the joke. She would affect to believe that the body of the lecture had been given by the bishop’s wife; and afterwards, when Mark described her costume at that Sunday morning breakfast table, Lady Lufton would assume that such had been the dress in which she had exercised her faculties in public.
“I would have given a five-pound note to have heard it,” said Sir George.
“So would not I,” said Lady Lufton. “When one hears of such things described so graphically as Mr. Robarts now tells it, one can hardly help laughing. But it would give me great pain to see the wife of one of our bishops place herself in such a situation. For he is a bishop after all.”
“Well, upon my word, my lady, I agree with Meredith,” said Lord Lufton. “It must have been good fun. As it did happen, you know,—as the Church was doomed to the disgrace,—I should like to have heard it.”
“I know you would have been shocked, Ludovic.”
“I should have got over that in time, mother. It would have been like a bullfight, I suppose—horrible to see, no doubt, but extremely interesting. And Harold Smith, Mark; what did he do all the while?”
“It didn’t take so very long, you know,” said Robarts.
“And the poor bishop,” said Lady Meredith; “how did he look? I really do pity him.”
“Well, he was asleep, I think.”
“What, slept through it all?” said Sir George.
“It awakened him; and then he jumped up and said something.”
“What, out loud, too?”
“Only one word, or so.”
“What a disgraceful scene!” said Lady Lufton. “To those who remember the good old man who was in the diocese before him it is perfectly shocking. He confirmed you, Ludovic, and you ought to remember him. It was over at Barchester, and you went and lunched with him afterwards.”
“I do remember; and especially this, that I never ate such tarts in my life, before or since. The old man particularly called my attention to them, and seemed remarkably pleased that I concurred in his sentiments. There are no such tarts as those going in the palace, now, I’ll be bound.”
“Mrs. Proudie will be very happy to do her best for you if you will go and try,” said Sir George.
“I beg that he will do no such thing,” said Lady Lufton; and that was the only severe word she said about any of Mark’s visitings. As Sir George Meredith was there, Robarts could say nothing then to Lord Lufton about Mr. Sowerby and Mr. Sowerby’s money affairs; but he did make an appointment for a tête-à-tête on the next morning.
“You must come down and see my nags, Mark; they came to-day. The Merediths will be off at twelve, and then we can have an hour together.” Mark said he would, and then went home with his wife under his arm.
“Well, now, is not she kind?” said Fanny, as soon as they were out on the gravel together.
“She is kind; kinder than I can tell you just at present. But did you ever know anything so bitter as she is to the poor bishop? And really the bishop is not so bad.”
“Yes; I know something much more bitter: and that is what she thinks of the bishop’s wife. And you know, Mark, it was so unladylike, her getting up in that way. What must the people of Barchester think of her?”
“As far as I could see, the people of Barchester liked it.”
“Nonsense, Mark; they could not. But never mind that now. I want you to own that she is good.” And then Mrs. Robarts went on with another long eulogy on the dowager. Since that affair of the pardon-begging at the parsonage, Mrs. Robarts hardly knew how to think well enough of her friend. And the evening had been so pleasant after the dreadful storm and threatenings of hurricanes; her husband had been so well received after his lapse of judgement; the wounds that had looked so sore had been so thoroughly healed, and everything was so pleasant. How all of this would have been changed had she known of that little bill! At twelve the next morning the lord and the vicar were walking through the Framley stables together. Quite a commotion had been made there, for the larger portion of those buildings had of late years seldom been used. But now all was crowding and activity. Seven or eight very precious animals had followed Lord Lufton from Leicestershire, and all of them required dimensions that were thought to be rather excessive by the Framley old-fashioned groom. My lord, however, had a head man of his own who took the matter quite into his own hands. Mark, priest as he was, was quite worldly enough to be fond of a good horse; and for some little time allowed Lord Lufton to descant on the merit of this four-year-old filly, and that magnificent Rattlebones colt, out of a Mousetrap mare; but he had other things that lay heavy on his mind, and after bestowing half an hour on the stud, he contrived to get his friend away to the shrubbery walks.
“So you have settled with Sowerby,” Robarts began by saying.
“Settled with him; yes, but do you know the price?”
“I believe that you have paid five thousand pounds.”
“Yes, and about three before; and that in a matter in which I did not really owe one shilling. Whatever I do in future,