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You approve, Stafford, eh?" Stafford nodded with something more than approval. "Thank you, sir," he said, simply. "We admired Mr. Groves's port." "He's a good fellow. I hope he'll enjoy the sherry. I shall take the first opportunity of calling and expressing my sense of his kindness No more? Shall we have the coffee with the cigars in the billiard room?"
By the by, when I go to town I will send down a haunch of venison from Groves's." So when Kenelm arrived, a little before six o'clock, he found in the drawing-room the Rev. Charles Emlyn, vicar of Moleswich proper, with his spouse, and a portly middle-aged man, to whom, as Sir Thomas Pratt, Kenelm was introduced. Sir Thomas was an eminent city banker.
It is clear, I think, from the following entry that Newman did not approve thoroughly of Mr. Groves's methods of learning Arabic, any more than he seems to do of his "monthly visits" to the Arabs. He says that a friend of theirs, who had recently joined them, had studied Arabic and Persian twenty-eight years, and is an accomplished Orientalist, yet he "ridicules English notions of learning."
But I must not write of such matters, nor of more serious ones that distract my judgment and distress me. "I have seen the American Missionaries here. This fundamentally agrees with what Mr. Hartley, of the Church Missionary Society, told me was the Society's proceeding against the Greek Church.... It also agrees with Groves's plan at Bagdad.
It seemed as if somebody on the other side of this screen had been insinuating doubts of Mr Groves's prowess, and had thereby given rise to these egotistical expressions, for Mr Groves wound up his defiance by giving a loud knock upon it with his knuckles and pausing for a reply from the other side.
With these words, the speaker tapped himself on the waistcoat to intimate that he was the Jem Groves so highly eulogized; sparred scientifically at a counterfeit Jem Groves, who was sparring at society in general from a black frame over the chimney-piece; and, applying a half-emptied glass of spirits and water to his lips, drank Jem Groves's health.
Groves's man " "Henry," murmured Ida, enviously: for had he not met her lover! "Yes. He was surprised, but I think glad, to see me; and we went to a hotel and talked.
He paces up still noisy Piccadilly, and then up silent Bond Street; pauses to look at some strange fish on Groves's counter anything to while away the time; then he plods on toward the top of the street, and turns into Mr. Pillischer's shop, and upstairs to the microscopic club-room. There, at least, he can forget himself for an hour.
By the by, when I go to town I will send down a haunch of venison from Groves's." So when Kenelm arrived, a little before six o'clock, he found in the drawing-room the Rev. Charles Emlyn, vicar of Moleswich proper, with his spouse, and a portly middle-aged man, to whom, as Sir Thomas Pratt, Kenelm was introduced. Sir Thomas was an eminent city banker.
"That's silly," he responded, almost falling into his discarded irritation; "I practically never go out without you. Unless you are with me I won't be in New York again for weeks." "I should have thought you'd be back at the Groves's tomorrow. It's more amusing there, I don't doubt; but, after all, you are married to me." "Good heavens, Fanny," he protested, "what is this about?
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