Northcote was at his wit’s end. He had no fellow-feeling for this difficulty. His friends were all much better off than he was as a poor minister. They were Manchester people, with two or three generations of wealth behind them, relations of whom nobody need be ashamed; and he was himself deeply humiliated and distressed to have said anything which could humiliate Phoebe, who rose immeasurably in his estimation in consequence of her bold avowal, though he himself would have sacrificed a great deal rather than put himself on the Tozer level. He did not know what to say.
“Miss Beecham, you know as well as I do, how falsely our opinions are formed in this respect, how conventional we are. What is position after all? To a grand Seigneur, for instance, the difference between his steward and his laquais seems nothing, but to the steward it is a great gulf. I—I mean—the whole question is conventional—position, or station, or rank—”
Phoebe smiled. “I don’t think that is quite the question,” she said, “but never mind. I suppose you are here on some mission? You would not come to Carlingford for pleasure.”
“Nay,” said Northcote, with a reproachful tone. “I should have thought you must have heard of our Meeting. It is for tonight. I have come from the Disestablishment Society with some other friends; but it has been my fate to come on before to make the arrangements. The others come today.”
“A hard fate, Mr. Northcote.”
“I thought so this morning. I have not been much in the way of the country congregations. I was confounded; but, Miss Beecham, I no longer think my fate hard since I have met you. Your noble simplicity and frankness have taught me a lesson.”
“It is not noble at all,” said Phoebe; “if I had not been sure you must find out I should have said nothing about it. Now I fear I must turn back.”
“But you will come to the Meeting,” he said, turning with her. He felt it necessary to be obsequious to Phoebe, after the terrible mistake he had made.
“Not unless grandpapa insists. I should like to hear your speech,” said Phoebe; “but I don’t object to the Established Church as you do, neither does papa when you push him hard. I don’t think England would be much nicer if we were all Dissenters. To be sure we might be more civil to each other.”
“If there were no Dissenters, you mean.”
“It comes to much the same thing; congregations are not pleasant masters, are they, Mr. Northcote? I know some people—one at least,” said Phoebe, “who is often very insolent to papa; and we have to put up with it—for the sake of peace, papa says. I don’t think in the Church that any leading member could be so insolent to a clergyman.”
“That is perhaps rather—forgive me—a narrow, personal view.”
“Wait till you get a charge, and have to please the congregation and the leading members!” cried Phoebe. “I know what you are thinking: it is just like a woman to look at a public question so. Very well; after all women are half the world, and their opinion is as good as another.”
“I have the greatest respect for your opinion,” said young Northcote; “but we must not think of individual grievances. The system, with all its wrongs, is what occupies me. I have heard something—even here—this very day—What is it, my good friend? I am busy now—another time; or if you want me, my lodgings are—”
A glance, half of pain, half of fun, came into Phoebe’s eyes. “It is grandpapa!” she said.
“You shouldn’t speak in that tone, sir, not to your elders, and maybe your betters,” said Tozer, in his greasy old coat. “Ministers take a deal upon them; but an old member like me, and one as has stood by the connection through thick and thin, ain’t the one to be called your good friend. Well, if you begs pardon, of course there ain’t no more to be said; and if you know our Phoebe—Phoebe, junior, as I calls her. What of the meeting, Mr. Northcote? I hope you’ll give it them Church folks ’ot and strong, sir. They do give themselves airs, to be sure, in Carlingford. Most of our folks is timid, seeing for one thing as their best customers belong to the Church. That don’t touch me, not nowadays,” said Tozer, with a laugh, “not that I was ever one as concealed my convictions. I hope you’ll give it ’em ’ot and strong.”
“I shall say what I think,” said the young man bewildered. He was by no means broken into the ways of the connection, and his pride rebelled at the idea of being schooled by this old shopkeeper; but the sight of Phoebe standing by not only checked his rebellious sentiments, but filled him with a sympathetic thrill of feeling. What it must be for that girl to own this old man, to live with him, and feel herself shut into his society and friends of his choosing—to hear herself spoken of as Phoebe, junior! The idea made him shiver, and this caught old Tozer’s always hospitable eye.
“You’re chilly,” he said, “and I don’t wonder after the dreadful weather we’ve had. Few passes my door without a bite or a sup, specially at teatime, Mr. Nor’cote, which is sociable time, as I always says. Come in and warm yourself and have a cup of tea. There is nothing as pleases my old woman so much as to get out her best tea-things for a minister; she ’as a great respect for ministers, has Mrs. Tozer, sir; and now she’s got Phoebe to show off as well as the chiney. Come along, sir, I can’t take no refusal. It’s just our time for tea.”
Northcote made an unavailing attempt to get away, but partly it appeared to him that to refuse the invitation might look to Phoebe like
