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He who was so far greater than a million Ronders! The situation in the Brandon family had not been made any easier by Falk's strange liking for the man. Joan did not pretend that she understood her brother or had ever been in any way close to him.
She would not have been in the service of the Ronders for nearly fifteen years had she not had a gift for managing.... Ronder, washed and brushed, came down to tea, looked about him, and saw that all was good. "I congratulate you, Aunt Alice," he said "excellent!" Miss Ronder very slightly flushed. "There are a lot of things still to be done," she said; nevertheless she was immensely pleased.
"What drink?" "Sherry, claret, lemonade for Charlotte, whisky." "Any catastrophes?" "No, I don't think so. Bentinck-Major sang afterwards." "Hum not sorry I missed that. When was it over?" "About eleven." "What did you ask them for?" "For the Ronders." Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze.
"Archdeacon Brandon's, sir." "Oh!..." Ronder mounted the steps. "Good night," he said to Fawcett. "Mrs. Clay, pay the cabman, please." The Ronders had taken this house a month ago; for two months before that it had stood desolate, wisps of paper and straw blowing about it, its "To let" notice creaking and screaming in every wind. The Hon. Mrs.
Brandon may have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him. Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals. We prefer things as they are, thank you." Miss Stiles' already bright colouring was a little brighter. She knew her Betsy Combermere, but she resented rebukes before Puddifoot.
Pentecoste, an eccentric old lady, had lived there for many years, and had died in the middle of a game of patience; her worn and tattered furniture had been sold at auction, and the house had remained unlet for a considerable period because people in the town said that the ghost of Mrs. The Ronders cared nothing for ghosts; the house was exactly what they wanted.
About them the station gathered in a black cloud, dirty, obscure, lit by flashes of light and flame, shaken with screams, rumblings, the crashing of carriage against carriage, the rattle of cab- wheels on the cobbles outside. To-day also there was the hiss and scatter of the rain upon the glass roof. The Ronders stood, not bewildered, for that they never were, but thinking what would be best.
She liked the Ronders because they never boasted of their successes, because Alice had a weak heart, because Ronder, who knew her character, half-humorously deprecated his talents, which were, as he knew well enough, no mean ones. She bored Alice Ronder, but Ronder found her useful.
The Archdeacon, as he stood there, felt a dim mysterious pain as though an adversary whom he completely despised had found suddenly with his weapon a joint in his armour. Ronders The train that brought Falk Brandon back to Polchester brought also the Ronders Frederick Ronder, newly Canon of Polchester, and his aunt, Miss Alice Ronder.
Even as the Ronders' cab paused for a moment before it turned to pass under the dark Arden Gate on to the asphalt of the Precincts, the great Mrs. Mellock herself, round and rubicund, came to the door and looked about her at the weather.
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