“Saul is a cleverer man than Edward is; but his cleverness is of a different sort.”
“It is of a sort that is very invisible to me. But what does all that matter? He hasn’t got a shilling. When I was a curate, we didn’t think of doing such things as that.” Mr. Clavering had only been a curate for twelve months, and during that time had become engaged to his present wife with the consent of everyone concerned. “But clergymen were gentlemen then. I don’t know what the Church will come to; I don’t indeed.”
After this Harry went away upon his mission. What a farce it was that he should be engaged to make straight the affairs of other people, when his own affairs were so very crooked! As he walked up to the old farmhouse in which Mr. Saul was living, he thought of this, and acknowledged to himself that he could hardly make himself in earnest about his sister’s affairs, because of his own troubles. He tried to fill himself with a proper feeling of dignified wrath and high paternal indignation against the poor curate; but under it all, and at the back of it all, and in front of it all, there was ever present to him his own position. Did he wish to escape from Lady Ongar; and if so, how was he to do it? And if he did not escape from Lady Ongar, how was he ever to hold up his head again?
He had sent a note to Mr. Saul on the previous evening giving notice of his intended visit, and had received an answer, in which the curate had promised that he would be at home. He had never before been in Mr. Saul’s room, and as he entered it, felt more strongly than ever how incongruous was the idea of Mr. Saul as a suitor to his sister. The Claverings had always had things comfortable around them. They were a people who had ever lived on Brussels carpets, and had seated themselves in capacious chairs. Ormolu, damask hangings, and Sevres china were not familiar to them; but they had never lacked anything that is needed for the comfort of the first-class clerical world. Mr. Saul in his abode boasted but few comforts. He inhabited a big bedroom, in which there was a vast fireplace and a very small grate—the grate being very much more modern than the fireplace. There was a small rag of a carpet near the hearth, and on this stood a large deal table—a table made of unalloyed deal, without any mendacious paint, putting forward a pretence in the direction of mahogany. One wooden Windsor armchair—very comfortable in its way—was appropriated to the use of Mr. Saul himself, and two other small wooden chairs flanked the other side of the fireplace. In one distant corner stood Mr. Saul’s small bed, and in another distant corner stood his small dressing-table. Against the wall stood a rickety deal press in which he kept his clothes. Other furniture there was none. One of the large windows facing towards the farmyard had been permanently closed, and in the wide embrasure was placed a portion of Mr. Saul’s library—books which he had brought with him from college; and on the ground under this closed window were arranged the others, making a long row, which stretched from the bed to the dressing-table, very pervious, I fear, to the attacks of mice. The big table near the fireplace was covered with books and papers—and, alas, with dust; for he had fallen into that terrible habit which prevails among bachelors, of allowing his work to remain ever open, never finished, always confused—with papers above books, and books above papers—looking as though no useful product could ever be made to come forth from such chaotic elements. But there Mr. Saul composed his sermons, and studied his Bible, and followed up, no doubt, some special darling pursuit which his ambition dictated. But there he did not eat his meals; that had been made impossible by the pile of papers and dust; and his chop, therefore, or his broiled rasher, or bit of pig’s fry was deposited for him on the little dressing-table, and there consumed.
Such was the solitary apartment of the gentleman who now aspired to the hand of Miss Clavering; and for this accommodation, including attendance, he paid the reasonable sum of £10 per annum. He then had £60 left, with which to feed himself, clothe himself like a gentleman—a duty somewhat neglected—and perform his charities!
Harry Clavering, as he looked around him, felt almost ashamed of his sister. The walls were whitewashed, and stained in many places; and the floor in the middle of the room seemed to be very rotten. What young man who has himself dwelt ever in comfort would like such a house for his sister? Mr. Saul, however, came forward with no marks of visible shame on his face, and greeted his visitor frankly with an open hand. “You came down from London yesterday, I suppose?” said Mr. Saul.
“Just so,” said Harry.
“Take a seat;” and Mr. Saul suggested the armchair, but Harry contented himself with one of the others. “I hope Mrs. Clavering is well?” “Quite well,” said Harry, cheerfully. “And your father—and sister?” “Quite well, thank you,” said Harry, very stiffly. “I would have come down to you at the rectory,” said Mr. Saul, “instead of bringing you up here; only, as you have heard, no doubt, I and your father have unfortunately had a difference.” This Mr. Saul said without any apparent effort, and then left Harry to commence the further conversation.
“Of course, you know what I’m come here about?” said Harry.
“Not exactly; at any rate not so clearly but what I would wish you to tell me.”
“You have gone to my father as
