On the Sunday the party from Bragton went to the parish church,—and found it very cold. The duty was done by a young curate who lived in Dillsborough, there being no house in Bragton for him. The rector himself had not been in the church for the last six months, being an invalid. At present he and his wife were away in London, but the vicarage was kept up for his use. The service was certainly not alluring. It was a very wet morning and the curate had ridden over from Dillsborough on a little pony which the rector kept for him in addition to the ￡100 per annum paid for his services. That he should have got over his service quickly was not a matter of surprise,—nor was it wonderful that there should have been no soul-stirring matter in his discourse as he had two sermons to preach every week and to perform single-handed all the other clerical duties of a parish lying four miles distant from his lodgings. Perhaps had he expected the presence of so distinguished a critic as the Senator from Mickewa he might have done better. As it was, being nearly wet through and muddy up to his knees, he did not do the work very well. When Morton and his friends left the church and got into the carriage for their half-mile drive home across the park, Mrs. Morton was the first to speak. "John," she said, "that church is enough to give any woman her death. I won\'t go there any more."
"They don\'t understand warming a church in the country," said John apologetically.
"Is it not a little too large for the congregation?" asked the Senator.
The church was large and straggling and ill arranged, and on this particular Sunday had been almost empty. There was in it an harmonium which Mrs. Puttock played when she was at home, but in her absence the attempt made by a few rustics to sing the hymns had not been a musical success. The whole affair had been very sad, and so the Paragon had felt it who knew,—and was remembering through the whole service,—how these things are done in transatlantic cities.
"The weather kept the people away I suppose," said Morton.
"Does that gentleman generally draw large congregations?" asked the persistent Senator.
"We don\'t go in for drawing congregations here." Under the cross-examination of his guest the Secretary of Legation almost lost his diplomatic good temper. "We have a church in every parish for those who choose to attend it."
"And very few do choose," said the Senator. "I can\'t say that they\'re wrong." There seemed at the moment to be no necessity to carry the disagreeable conversation any further as they had now reached the house. Mrs. Morton immediately went up-stairs, and the two gentlemen took themselves to the fire in the so-called library, which room was being used as more commodious than the big drawing-room. Mr. Gotobed placed himself on the rug with his back to the fire and immediately reverted to the Church. "That gentleman is paid by tithes I suppose."
"He\'s not the rector. He\'s a curate."
"Ah;—just so. He looked like a curate. Doesn\'t the rector do anything?" Then Morton, who was by this time heartily sick of explaining, explained the unfortunate state of Mr. Puttock\'s health, and the conversation was carried on till gradually the Senator learned that Mr. Puttock received ￡800 a year and a house for doing nothing, and that he paid his deputy ￡100 a year with the use of a pony. "And how long will that be allowed to go on, Mr. Morton?" asked the Senator.
To all these inquiries Morton found himself compelled not only to answer, but to answer the truth. Any prevarication or attempt at mystification fell to the ground at once under the Senator\'s tremendous powers of inquiry. It had been going on for four years, and would probably go on now till Mr. Puttock died. "A man of his age with the asthma may live for twenty years," said the Senator who had already learned that Mr. Puttock was only fifty. Then he ascertained that Mr. Puttock had not been presented to, or selected for the living on account of any peculiar fitness;—but that he had been a fellow of Rufford at Oxford till he was forty-five, when he had thought it well to marry and take a living. "But he must have been asthmatic then?" said the Senator.
"He may have had all the ailments endured by the human race for anything I know," said the unhappy host.
"And for anything the bishop cared as far as I can see," said the Senator. "Well now, I guess, that couldn\'t occur in our country. A minister may turn out badly with us as well as with you. But we don\'t appoint a man without inquiry as to his fitness,—and if a man can\'t do his duty he has to give way to some one who can. If the sick gentleman took the small portion of the stipend and the working man the larger, would not better justice be done, and the people better served?"
"Mr. Puttock has a freehold in the parish."
"A freehold possession of men\'s souls! The fact is, Mr. Morton, that the spirit of conservatism in this country is so strong that you cannot bear to part with a shred of the barbarism of the middle ages. And when a rag is sent to the winds you shriek with agony at the disruption, and think that the wound will be mortal." As Mr. Gotobed said this he extended his right hand and laid his left on his breast as though he were addressing the Senate from his own chair. Morton, who had offered to entertain the gentleman for ten days, sincerely wished that he were doing so.
On the Monday afternoon the Trefoils arrived. Mr. Morton, with his grandmother and both the carriages, went down to receive them,—with a cart also for the luggage, which was fortunate, as Arabella Trefoil\'s big box was very big indeed, and Lady Augustus, though she was economical in most things, had brought a comfortable amount of clothes. Each of them had her own lady\'s maid, so that the two carriages were necessary. How it was that these ladies lived so luxuriously was a mystery to their friends, as for some time past they had enjoyed no particular income of their own. Lord Augustus had spent everything that came to his hand, and the family owned no house at all. Nevertheless Arabella Trefoil was to be seen at all parties magnificently dressed, and never stirred anywhere without her own maid. It would have been as grievous to her to be called on to live without food as to go without this necessary appendage. She was a big, fair girl whose copious hair was managed after such a fashion that no one could guess what was her own and what was purchased. She certainly had fine eyes, though I could never imagine how any one could look at them and think it possible that she should be in love. They were very large, beautifully blue, but never bright; and the eyebrows over them were perfect. Her cheeks were somewhat too long and the distance from her well-formed nose to her upper lip too great. Her mouth was small and her teeth excellent. But the charm of which men spoke the most was the brilliance of her complexion. If, as the ladies said, it was all paint, she, or her maid, must have been a great artist. It never betrayed itself to be paint. But the beauty on which she prided herself was the grace of her motio............