Clergy -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"I wonder what the Miss Wodehouses think of it," he said at last. "One
would do a great deal to keep them from hearing such a thing; but I
wonder how they are feeling about it," said Mr Proctor--and clearly
declined to discuss the matter with Mrs Morgan, who was counsel for
the defence. When the Rector's wife went to her own room to dress for
dinner, it is very true that she had a good cry over her cup of tea.
She was not only disappointed, but exasperated, in that impatient
feminine nature of hers. Perhaps if she had been less sensitive, she
would have had less of that redness in her face which was so great a
trouble to Mrs Morgan. These two slow middle-aged men, without any
intuitions, who were coming lumbering after her through all kind of
muddles of evidence and argument, exasperated the more rapid woman. To
be sure, they understood Greek plays a great deal better than she did;
but she was penetrated with the liveliest impatience of their dulness
all the same. Mrs Morgan, however, like most people who are in advance
of their age, felt her utter impotence against that blank wall of dull
resistance. She could not make them see into the heart of things as
she did. She had to wait until they had attacked the question in the
orthodox way of siege, and made gradual entrance by dint of hard
labour. All she could do to console herself was, to shed certain hot
tears of indignation and annoyance over her tea, which, however, was
excellent tea, and did her good. Perhaps it was to show her sense of
superiority, and that she did not feel herself vanquished, that, after
that, she put on her new dress, which was very much too nice to be
wasted upon Mr Proctor. As for Mr Leeson, who came in as usual just in
time for dinner, having heard of Mr Proctor's arrival, she treated him
with a blandness which alarmed the Curate. "I quite expected you, for
we have the All-Souls pudding to-day," said the Rector's wife, and she
smiled a smile which would have struck awe into the soul of any curate
that ever was known in Carlingford.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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