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Updated: May 22, 2025
She had sacrificed her natural reserve, which he could see was great; she had even set good taste at defiance to defend Hester Gresley's book. Hugh had shuddered as he heard her speak. He felt that he could not have obtruded himself on so mixed an assembly. Yet he saw that it had cost her more to do so than it would have cost him.
The whole table was listening. She shrugged her orange-velvet shoulders. "Those who have cast in their lot with the poor," she said, sententiously, "would recognize at once the impossibility of Miss Gresley's characters and situations." "To me they seem real," said Rachel.
Hester's eyes were very gentle, very appealing under their long, curled lashes. They were sad, too, as Mr. Gresley's never were, gay as his never were. An infinite patience looked out of them sometimes, that patience of enthusiasm which will cast away its very soul and all its best years for the sake of an ideal. Hester showed her age in her eyes.
West London in satin and diamonds does not hear her sister East London in rags calling to her to deliver her. The voice of East London has been drowned in the dance-music of the West End." Sybell gazed with awed admiration at the apostle. "What a beautiful thought," she said. "Miss Gresley's Idyll of East London," said Hugh, "is a voice which, at any rate, has been fully heard."
"Half-hours with the Young," by a Rural Dean. But as an invalid will rebel against a long course of milk puddings, and will crave for the jam roll which is for others, so Mr. Gresley's mind revolted from St. Augustine, and craved for something different. His wandering eye fell on Hester's book. "I can't attend to graver things to-night," he said, "I will take a look at Hester's story.
Gresley's study on the ground floor, but, nevertheless, she often heard confused, anxious parochial buzzings overwhelmed by that sustained high note which knew no cessation until objection or opposition ceased. As she came towards them, she heard with perfect distinctness what he was saying, but it did not trouble her.
"Not a bit," said Dick "not a bit; but if the people have had enough of me I'll take your chair while you have another innings." In a moment the room was in an uproar. Shouts of "No, no," "Go on," "Let him speak." In the tumult Mr. Gresley's voice, instead of being the solo, became but as one instrument albeit a trombone in an orchestra.
But his mind was working, and work, as we know, is the panacea for mental anguish. Mr. Gresley had recovered that buoyancy of spirits which was the theme of Mrs. Gresley's increasing admiration. On this particular evening, when his wife had asked him if the beef were tender, he had replied, as he always did if in a humorous vein: "Douglas, Douglas, tender and true." More family jars."
To any one who looked beyond the first impression of good-breeding and a well-cut coat, a second closer glance was discouraging. Mr. Gresley's suspicious eye and thin, compressed lips hinted that both fanatic and saint were fighting for predominance in the kingdom of that pinched brain, the narrowness of which the sloping forehead betokened with such cruel plainness.
That a protest against a certain class of the clergy might be the result of a close observation of the causes that bring ecclesiastical Christianity into disrepute could find no admission to Mr. Gresley's mind.
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