“Only that my poor patient wants me,” said Lucy. “Must I not do my duty to a poor woman who is dying, because Mr. Wentworth is in Prickett’s Lane? There is no reason why I should be afraid of meeting Mr. Wentworth,” said the young district-visitor, severely; and the elder sister saw that Lucy spoke in a different tone from that in which she had answered her before. She did not extinguish Miss Wodehouse by a reference to the great work. She treated the matter more as a personal one today; and a shadow—a very ghost of irritation—was in Lucy’s voice. The two crossed the street silently after that to Elsworthy’s, where a group of ladies were visible, who had come out of the strange carriage. One of them was seated in a chair by the counter, another was reading a list which Mr. Elsworthy had just presented to her, and the third, who was not so tall as her sister, was pressing up to it on tiptoe, trying to read it too. “That is Miss Dora Wentworth,” said Lucy, “and the other, I suppose, is Miss Leonora, who is so very Low-Church. I think I can see the Miss Hemmings coming down George Street. If I were to go in I should be in a dreadful minority; but you are Low-Church in your heart too.”
“No, dear; only reasonable,” said Miss Wodehouse, apologetically. “I don’t go as far as you and Mr. Wentworth do, but I like the service to be nicely done, and the—the authority of the Church respected too. As I have never met Miss Wentworth, you had better come in and introduce me. There is Rosa looking out of the front window, Lucy. I really must speak to Mrs. Elsworthy about that child. What a lovely old lady that is sitting by the counter! Say I am your sister, and then if you are resolved upon Prickett’s Lane, you can go away.”
“They are the two who wear the grey cloaks,” said Miss Leonora Wentworth to herself, as the introduction was effected. “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Wodehouse. We are going to stay in Carlingford for a time, and to know a few pious families will be a great advantage. We don’t go much into society, in the usual sense of the word—but, I am sure, to make the acquaintance of ladies who help my nephew so much in his work, is sure to be an advantage. I should like so much to hear from you how he gets on, for he does not say a great deal about it himself.”
“He is so good and so nice,” said kind Miss Wodehouse, “he never makes a fuss about anything he does. I am sure, to see such young creatures so pious and so devoted, always goes to my heart. When we were young it used to be so different—we took our own pleasure, and never thought of our fellow-creatures. And the young people are so good nowadays,” said the gentle woman, falling instinctively into her favourite sentiment. Miss Leonora looked at her with critical eyes.
“We are none of us good,” said that iron-grey woman, whose neutral tints were so different from the soft dove-colour of her new acquaintance; “it does not become such sinful creatures to talk of anybody being good. Good works may only be beautiful sins, if they are not done in a true spirit,” said Miss Leonora, turning to her list of furnished houses with a little contempt. But the Miss Hemmings had come in while she was speaking, and it was seldom that such edifying talk was heard in Carlingford.
“That is such a beautiful sentiment—oh, if we only bore it always in mind!” murmured the eldest Miss Hemmings. “Mr. Elsworthy, I hope you have got the tracts I ordered. They are so much wanted here. Poor dear Mr. Bury would not believe his eyes if he could see Carlingford now, given up to Puseyism and Ritualism—but good men are taken away from the evil to come. I will pay for them now, please.”
“If you wish it, ma’am,” said Mr. Elsworthy. “The town is changed; I don’t say nothing different; but being in the ritual line as you say, you won’t find no church as it’s better done than in St. Roque’s. Mr. Wentworth never spares no pains, ma’am, on anything as he takes up. I’ve heard a deal of clergymen in my day, but his reading is beautiful; I can’t say as I ever heard reading as could equal it;—and them choristers, though they’re hawful to manage, is trained as I never see boys trained in my life afore. There’s one of them houses, ma’am,” continued the optimist, turning to Miss Wentworth, “as is a beauty. Miss Wodehouse can tell you what it is; no lady in the land could desire a handsomer drawing-room; and as for the kitchings—I don’t pretend to be a judge upstairs, but being brought up a blacksmith, I know what’s what in a kitching-range. If you had all Grange Lane to dinner, there’s a range as is equal to it,” said Mr. Elsworthy with enthusiasm—“and my wife will show you the ’ouse.”
“I knew Mr. Bury,” said Miss Leonora; “he was a precious man. Perhaps you have heard
