The Perpetual Curate

epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr. Wentworth said to himself, with the callousness of mature age, not suspecting the different ideas that were afloat in the mind of his son. Perhaps, on the whole, he was not sorry that Skelmersdale was destined otherwise, and that Huxtable had been spoken to about Wentworth Rectory; for, of course, Frank would have plunged into marriage at once if he had been possessed of anything to marry on; and it looked providential under the circumstances, as the Squire argued with himself privately, that at such a crisis the Perpetual Curate should have fallen between two stools of possible preferment, and should still be obliged to content himself with St. Roque’s. It was hard for Mr. Wentworth to reconcile himself to the idea that the wife of his favourite son should be the sister of ⸻; for the Squire forgot that his own girls were Jack Wentworth’s sisters, and as such might be objected to in their turn by some other father. So the two gentlemen went to see Lucy, who was then in a very humble frame of mind, just recovered from her passion⁠—one of them rather congratulating himself on the obstacles which lay before the young couple, the other tossing his youthful head a little in the first impulses of self-will, feeling the reins lie loose upon him, and making up his mind to have his own way.

XLV

While Mr. Frank Wentworth’s affairs were thus gathering to a crisis, other events likely to influence his fate were also taking place in Carlingford. Breakfast had been served a full half-hour later than usual in the Rectory, which had not improved the temper of the household. Everything was going on with the most wonderful quietness in that well-arranged house; but it was a quietness which would have made a sensitive visitor uncomfortable, and which woke horrible private qualms in the mind of the Rector. As for Mrs. Morgan, she fulfilled all her duties with a precision which was terrible to behold: instead of taking part in the conversation as usual, and having her own opinion, she had suddenly become possessed of such a spirit of meekness and acquiescence as filled her husband with dismay. The Rector was fond of his wife, and proud of her good sense, and her judgment, and powers of conversation. If she had been angry and found fault with him, he might have understood that mode of procedure; but as she was not angry, but only silent, the excellent man was terribly disconcerted, and could not tell what to do. He had done all he could to be conciliatory, and had already entered upon a great many explanations which had come to nothing for want of any response; and now she sat at the head of the table making tea with an imperturbable countenance, sometimes making little observations about the news, perfectly calm and dignified, but taking no part in anything more interesting, and turning off any reference that was made to her in the most skilful manner. “Mr. Morgan knows I never take any part in the gossip of Carlingford,” she said to Mr. Proctor, without any intention of wounding that good man; and he who had been in the midst of something about Mr. Wentworth came to an abrupt stop with the sense of having shown himself as a gossip, which was very injurious to his dignity. The late Rector, indeed, occupied a very uncomfortable position between the married people thus engaged in the absorbing excitement of their first quarrel. The quiet little arrows, which Mrs. Morgan intended only for her husband, grazed and stung him as they passed, without missing at the same time their intended aim; and he was the auditor, besides, of a great deal of information intended by the Rector for his wife’s benefit, to which Mrs. Morgan paid no manner of attention. Mr. Proctor was not a man of very lively observation, but he could not quite shut his eyes to the position of affairs; and the natural effect upon his mind, in the circumstances, was to turn his thoughts towards his mild Mary, whom he did not quite recognise as yet under her Christian name. He called her Miss Wodehouse in his heart even while in the act of making comparisons very unfavourable to the Rector’s wife, and then he introduced benevolently the subject of his new rectory, which surely must be safe ground.

“It is a pretty little place,” Mr. Proctor said, with satisfaction: “of course it is but a small living compared to Carlingford. I hope you will come and see me, after⁠—it is furnished,” said the bashful bridegroom: “it is a nuisance to have all that to look after for one’s self⁠—”

“I hope you will have somebody to help you,” said Mrs. Morgan, with a little earnestness; “gentlemen don’t understand about such things. When you have one piece of furniture in bad taste, it spoils a whole room⁠—carpets, for instance⁠—” said the Rector’s wife. She looked at Mr. Proctor so severely that the good man faltered, though he was not aware of the full extent of his guiltiness.

“I am sure I don’t know,” he said: “I told the man here to provide everything as it ought to be; and I think we were very successful,” continued Mr. Proctor, with a little complacency: to be sure, they were in the dining-room at the moment, being still at the breakfast-table. “Buller knows a great deal about that sort of thing, but then he is too ecclesiological for my taste. I like things to look cheerful,” said the unsuspicious man. “Buller is the only man that could be reckoned on if any living were to fall vacant. It is very odd nowadays how indifferent men are about the Church. I don’t say that it is not very pleasant at All Souls; but a house of one’s own, you know⁠—” said Mr. Proctor, looking with a little awkward enthusiasm at his recently-married brother; “of course I mean