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He had, in the past, opposed every plan of the Archdeacon's, and opposed it relentlessly, but he was always, thanks to the Archdeacon's efforts, in a minority. The other Canons disliked him; the old Bishop, safely tucked away in his Palace at Carpledon, was, except for his satellite Rogers, his only friend in Polchester. There was now only one unknown element in the situation Ronder.
No one in the world could have been richer in anecdotes than Ronder, anecdotes of precisely the kind for the Bishop's taste, not too worldly, not too clerical, amusing without being broad, light and airy, but showing often a fine scholarship and a wise and thoughtful experience of foreign countries. The Bishop had not laughed so heartily for many a day. "Oh, dear!
You came into the middle of it, and were doubtless forced to take the part you did. But I'll have no lot or hold in it. If I am to understand that I gain the Pybus appointment only through a lot of backstairs intrigue and cabal, I'll let it be known at once that I would not accept that living though it were offered me a thousand times." "No, no," cried Ronder eagerly.
Wistons had come to Polchester for a night to see his friend Foster. It was an entirely private visit, unknown to anybody save two or three of his friends among the clergy. He had asked whether Ronder could spare him half an hour. Ronder was delighted to spare it.... Ronder was in the liveliest spirits.
"Rest a moment" With a great heave of his shoulders he flung them off, a chair falling to the ground with the movement. He saw Ronder. "You!...my enemy. Are you satisfied now?" he whispered. He held out his quivering hand. "Take my hand. You've done your worst." He turned round as though he would go from the room. Stumbling, he caught Foster by the shoulder as though he would save himself.
He hated his old woman, and in a vaguely superstitious, thoroughly Glebeshire fashion half-believed that she had cast a spell over him and was really responsible for his "wormy" ear. Why had he come? He didn't himself know. Perhaps Ronder was going to be of importance in the place, he had come from London and they all had money in London.
Her face with its little red-rimmed eyes, freckled and flushed complexion, her clumsy thick-set figure, fitted ill with her youthful dress. It was obvious enough that fate had not treated her well since her departure from the Library; she was running to seed very swiftly, and was herself bitterly conscious of the fact. Ronder, looking at her, was aware that it was her own fault that it was so.
If you'll forgive my saying so, that's the sort of thing any one says to cover up what he really feels. That's not what you really feel. Anyway it accounts for simply nothing at all. If that's all there is in life " "I don't say that's all there is in life," interrupted Ronder softly, "I only say that that does for a start for one's daily conduct I mean.
Ronder leaned forward, pushing his spectacles back with his fingers. He leaned forward that he might not see Brandon's face. By chance he had not seen Brandon for more than a fortnight. He was horrified and frightened by the change.
He's read nothing, he knows nothing, he's a child and does infinite harm...." He looked up at Ronder and said quite mildly, "Is there anything more you want to know?" "There's talk," said Ronder, "about the living at Pybus St. Anthony. It's apparently an important place, and when there's an appointment I should like to be able to form an opinion about the best man "
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