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Updated: June 3, 2025
"I think the Archdeacon's right," said Bentinck-Major, who wanted to win his way back to favour after the little mistake about the music. "It was settled, I think." "Nothing of the kind," said Foster fiercely. "We settled nothing." "How does it read on the minutes?" asked the Dean nervously. "Postponed until the next meeting," said the Clerk.
Ronder was, for a moment, uncertain. Here, he was happy to think, he must go with the greatest care. He did not smile as he had smiled upon Bentinck-Major. He spoke to Foster as to an equal. "I can see you're busy," he said. "All the same I'm not going to apologise for coming. I'll tell you frankly that I want your help.
One look at Bentinck-Major's garden told a great deal about Bentinck- Major. The flower-beds, the trim over-green lawn, the neat paths, the trees in their fitting places, all spoke not only of a belief in material things but a desire also to demonstrate that one so believed.... One expected indeed to see the Bentinck-Major arms over the front-door. They were there in spirit if not in fact.
This was definitely a meeting of Conspirators, and all of those engaged in it, with one exception, knew that that was so. Bentinck-Major knew it, and Foster and Ryle and Rogers. The exception was Martin, a young Minor Canon, who had the living of St. Joseph's-in-the-Fields, a slum parish in the lower part of the town. Martin had been invited because he was the best clergyman in Polchester.
"You never saw such a mixture, and I don't think Miss Burnett knew who any one was. Not that she had much time to think, poor dear, she was so worried with the tea. Such a maid as she had you never saw!" "A mixture?" asked Mrs. Combermere. "Who were they?" "Oh, Canon Ronder and Bentinck-Major and Mrs. Brandon and Oh, yes! actually Falk Brandon!" "Falk Brandon there?"
His presence could alter nothing, the voting could go only one way. It would be very painful were he there. Surely after the High Street affair he would not come. They were standing about the room, looking out into the Cloisters, talking in little groups the Dean, Bentinck-Major, Ryle, Foster, and Bond, the Clerk, a little apart from the others as social decency demanded.
He climbed, the rocks cut his knees and hands; then, on every side his enemies appeared, Bentinck-Major and Foster, the Bishop's Chaplain, women, even children, laughing, and behind them Hogg and that drunken painter. Their hands were on him, they pulled at his flesh, they beat on his face then, suddenly, rising like a full moon behind the hill Ronder!
But she never, never spoke of such things. She was thinking now of Mrs. Brandon and Morris. They said that some one had found a letter, a disgraceful letter. How extraordinary! "It's loneliness," suddenly said Miss Ronder, "that drives people to do the things they do." Mrs. Bentinck-Major started as though some one had struck her in the small of her back. Was the woman a witch? How amazing!
Splendid of the weather to be so beautiful, of the bells to clash, of every one to wear their best clothes, of the Jubilee to arrange itself so exactly at the right moment! And could it be only last Saturday that he had spoken to her? And it seemed centuries, centuries ago! She chattered eagerly, smiling at Betty Callender, and then at the D'Arcy girls, and then at Mrs. Bentinck-Major.
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