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The studio in which she worked was on the top of Campden Hill, and opened into one of the pleasant gardens of that neighbourhood. Her uncle, Charles Bentley, an elderly Academician, with an ugly, humorous face, red hair, red eyebrows, a black skull-cap, and a general weakness for the female sex, was very fond of his niece Doris, and inclined to think her a neglected and underrated wife.
"That is all very fine, Mr. Hodder, very altruistic, very Christian, I've no doubt-but the world doesn't work that way." If we had a division to-day, the able men would come out on top next year." The rector shook his head. He remembered, at that moment, Horace Bentley. "What drives the world is a far higher motive, Mr.
I should like to do it, but if you do not think well of it, I will not do it. I know it is too late now to make up to her for the past," said Mrs. Bentley, and here she gave way to the grief she had restrained hitherto. "There is no one else," she went on, "who has been so intimately acquainted with the facts of my daughter's engagement no one else that I can confide in or appeal to."
Nor would he have thought it possible that a new value could be added to Mr. Bentley in his eyes. Yet so it was. He felt within him, as she spoke, the quickening of a stimulus. "When I came in a little while ago," Alison continued, "I found a woman in black, with such a sweet, sad face. We began a conversation. She had been through a frightful experience.
And then I'd see him and Uncle Sime Bentley, his particular chum, with their heads clost together, seemin'ly plottin' sunthin' or ruther, though what it wuz I couldn't imagine. And then they would bend their heads eagerly over the daily papers, and more'n once Josiah got down our old Olney's Atlas and he and Uncle Sime would pour over it and whisper, though what it wuz about I couldn't imagine.
Bentley told a story which explained what had frequently puzzled Alice the patient sorrow in Mrs. Denison's eyes, and Mr. Denison's harassed and dejected manner. "But for your goodness to the children," said the old woman, "and the way that precious baby takes to you, I don't think I should be willing to say what I am going to do, miss.
Garvin glanced at Hodder, who came forward. "I was just about to telephone for Dr. Jarvis, Mr. Bentley, when you arrived. I am Mr. Hodder, of St. John's." "How do you do, sir?" The kindly eyes, alight with a gentle flame, rested upon the rugged figure of the rector. "I am glad that you, too, agree that Dr. Jarvis is advisable, Mr. Hodder." There was a sound from the bed.
Bentley mentioned the sizes of the two portable houses. "The spot that I have in mind will do finely," Dick declared. "And I think you can drive the wagons in there." Dan Dalzell was sent to the road to instruct the teamsters to drive in at the point which young Prescott mentioned. It was not long before the two wagons were at the spot.
Among the great men whom he encouraged and rewarded, may be mentioned the historian Burnet, whom he made Bishop of Salisbury, and Tillotson and Tennison, whom he elevated to archiepiscopal thrones. Dr. South and Dr. Bentley also adorned this age of eminent divines.
Jarvis, but he lingered on, loth to leave, if the truth be told afraid to leave; drawing strength from his host's calm, wondering as to the source of it, as to the life which was its expression; longing, yet not presuming, to question. The twilight deepened, and the old darky lit a lamp and led the way back to the library. "Sam," said Mr. Bentley, "draw up the armchair for Mr.
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