“Oh, I don’t mind his being wicked: he’s all the better for that; and as for disliking him—I shouldn’t greatly object to being Lady Ashby of Ashby Park, if I must marry. But if I could be always young, I would be always single. I should like to enjoy myself thoroughly, and coquet with all the world, till I am on the verge of being called an old maid; and then, to escape the infamy of that, after having made ten thousand conquests, to break all their hearts save one, by marrying some high-born, rich, indulgent husband, whom, on the other hand, fifty ladies were dying to have.” “Well, as long as you entertain these views, keep single by all means, and never marry at all: not even to escape the infamy of old-maidenhood.” CHAPTER X. THE CHURCH “Well, Miss Grey, what do you think of the new curate?” asked Miss Murray, on our return from church the Sunday after the recommencement of our duties. “I can scarcely tell,” was my reply: “I have not even heard him preach.” “Well, but you saw him, didn’t you?” “Yes, but I cannot pretend to judge of a man’s character by a single cursory glance at his face.” “But isn’t he ugly?” “He did not strike me as being particularly so; I don’t dislike that cast of countenance: but the only thing I particularly noticed about him was his style of reading; which appeared to me good—infinitely better, at least, than Mr. Hatfield’s. He read the Lessons as if he were bent on giving full effect to every passage; it seemed as if the most careless person could not have helped attending, nor the most ignorant have failed to understand; and the prayers he read as if he were not reading at all, but praying earnestly and sincerely from his own heart.” “Oh, yes, that’s all he is good for: he can plod through the service well enough; but he has not a single idea beyond it.” “How do you know?” “Oh! I know perfectly well; I am an excellent judge in such matters. Did you see how he went out of church? stumping along—as if there were nobody there but himself—never looking to the right hand or the left, and evidently thinking of nothing but just getting out of the church, and, perhaps, home to his dinner: his great stupid head could contain no other idea.” “I suppose you would have had him cast a glance into the squire’s pew,” said I, laughing at the vehemence of her hostility. “Indeed! I should have been highly indignant if he had dared to do such a thing!” replied she, haughtily tossing her head; then, after a moment’s reflection, she added—“Well, well! I suppose he’s good enough for his place: but I’m glad I’m not dependent on _him_ for amusement—that’s all. Did you see how Mr. Hatfield hurried out to get a bow from me, and be in time to put us into the carriage?”