“She is a nice girl, certainly,” said Fowler Pratt to himself, as he walked home, “and I have no doubt would make a good, ordinary, everyday wife. But she is not such a paragon that a man should condescend to grovel in the dirt for her.”
That night Lily told Emily Dunstable the whole of Mr. Crosbie’s history as far as she knew it, and also explained her new aversion to Mr. Fowler Pratt.
“They are very great friends,” said Emily. “Bernard has told me so; and you may be sure that Mr. Pratt knew the whole history before he came here. I am so sorry that my aunt asked him.”
“It does not signify in the least,” said Lily. “Even if I were to meet Mr. Crosbie I don’t think I should make such a fool of myself again. As it is, I can only hope he did not see it.”
“I am sure he did not.”
Then there was a pause, during which Lily sat with her face resting on both her hands. “It is wonderful how much he is altered,” she said at last.
“Think how much he has suffered.”
“I suppose I am altered as much, only I do not see it in myself.”
“I don’t know what you were, but I don’t think you can have changed much. You no doubt have suffered too, but not as he has done.”
“Oh, as for that, I have done very well. I think I’ll go to bed now. The riding makes me so sleepy.”
LIV
The Clerical Commission
It was at last arranged that the five clergymen selected should meet at Dr. Tempest’s house in Silverbridge to make inquiry and report to the bishop whether the circumstances connected with the cheque for twenty pounds were of such a nature as to make it incumbent on him to institute proceedings against Mr. Crawley in the Court of Arches. Dr. Tempest had acted upon the letter which he had received from the bishop, exactly as though there had been no meeting at the palace, no quarrel to the death between him and Mrs. Proudie. He was a prudent man, gifted with the great power of holding his tongue, and had not spoken a word, even to his wife, of what had occurred. After such a victory our old friend the archdeacon would have blown his own trumpet loudly among his friends. Plumstead would have heard of it instantly, and the paean would have been sung out in the neighbouring parishes of Eiderdown, Stogpingum, and St. Ewolds. The high-street of Barchester would have known of it, and the very bedesmen in Hiram’s Hospital would have told among themselves the terrible discomfiture of the bishop and his lady. But Dr. Tempest spoke no word of it to anybody. He wrote letters to the two clergymen named by the bishop, and himself selected two others out of his own rural deanery, and suggested to them all a day at which a preliminary meeting should be held at his own house. The two who were invited by him were Mr. Oriel, the rector of Greshamsbury, and Mr. Robarts, the vicar of Framley. They all assented to the proposition, and on the day named assembled themselves at Silverbridge.
It was now April, and the judges were to come into Barchester before the end of the month. What then could be the use of this ecclesiastical inquiry exactly at the same time? Men and women declared that it was a double prosecution, and that a double prosecution for the same offence was a course of action opposed to the feelings and traditions of the country. Miss Anne Prettyman went so far as to say that it was unconstitutional, and Mary Walker declared that no human being except Mrs. Proudie would ever have been guilty of such cruelty.
“Don’t tell me about the bishop, John,” she said; “the bishop is a cipher.”
“You may be sure Dr. Tempest would not have a hand in it if it were not right,” said John Walker.
“My dear Mr. John,” said Miss Anne Prettyman, “Dr. Tempest is as hard as a bar of iron, and always was. But I am surprised that Mr. Robarts should take a part in it.”
In the meantime, at the palace, Mrs. Proudie had been reduced to learn what was going on from Mr. Thumble. The bishop had never spoken a word to her respecting Mr. Crawley since that terrible day on which Dr. Tempest had witnessed his imbecility—having absolutely declined to answer when his wife had mentioned the subject.
“You won’t speak to me about it, my dear?” she had said to him, when he had thus declined, remonstrating more in sorrow than in anger.
“No; I won’t,” the bishop had replied; “there has been a great deal too much talking about it. It has broken my heart already, I know.”
These were very bad days in the palace. Mrs. Proudie affected to be satisfied with what was being done. She talked to Mr. Thumble about Mr. Crawley and the cheque, as though everything were arranged quite to her satisfaction—as though everything, indeed, had been arranged by herself. But everybody about the house could see that the manner of the woman was altogether altered. She was milder than usual with the servants and was almost too gentle in her usage of her husband. It seemed as though something had happened to frighten her and break her spirit, and it was whispered about through the palace that
