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Updated: May 18, 2025
And yet girls! And Mrs. Prockter was no fool, come to think of it. A sterling creature. Not of his world, but nevertheless At this point he uneasily dozed. However, he determined to talk with Helen that morning at breakfast. He descended at half-past seven, as usual, full of a diplomatic intention to talk to Helen. She was wholly sensible; she was a person to whom you could talk.
"Emanuel and Mr. Dean?" "Yes. But you must have heard?" "I assure you, Sally, no one has told me a word about it." "But they quarrelled up here. I did hear that Andrew threw Emanuel into your lake." "Who told you that?" "It was Mrs. Prockter. She was calling on the mater yesterday, and she seemed to be full of it according to the mater's account. Mrs.
Yet there were only three persons present besides himself. But decidedly they were not of his world; they were of the world that referred to him as "old Jimmy Ollerenshaw," or briefly as "Jimmy." And he had to sit and listen to them, and even to answer coherently when spoken to. Emanuel Prockter was brilliant.
He was singing at the concert " "So sorry I wasn't able to be here," Mrs. Prockter inserted, with effusive anxiety. "We missed you awfully," Helen properly responded. "The rector was inconsolable. So was everybody," she added, feeling that as a compliment the rector's grief might be deemed insufficient. "And he had a breakdown." "Who? Emanuel?" "Yes.
The splendid chamber was full of women's hats and men's heads; but hats predominated. And the majority of the audience were seated on gilt chairs which James had never before seen. Probably there were four or five score gilt chairs. At the other end of the room the aged rector sat in an easy-chair. Helen herself was perched at the piano, and in front of the piano stood Emanuel Prockter.
"Rely on me," said she, silencing him. Thus, without a pang, he left Helen to her fate. They had touched the ground-floor. "Thank you very much, Mr. Ollerenshaw," said Mrs. Prockter. "Good-night. I'll make the best of my way home." Curious, how sorry he felt at this announcement!
And then came the moment when Sarah Swetnam could no longer suffer the silence; and she began, very cautiously: "I suppose you've heard all about Andrew and Emanuel Prockter?" Helen perceived that she had not been mistaken, and that the scene was at hand. "No," said she. "What about them?" "You don't mean to say you've not heard?" "No. What about?" "The quarrel between those two?"
He wanted to humour her. She looked him straight in the eyes. "You've seen it," said she. "What!" he snorted. "When han I seen it?" "Just now," she replied. "It's Wilbraham Hall. I knew that Mrs. Prockter wouldn't have it. And, besides, I've made Emanuel give up all idea of it." He laughed, but with a strange and awful sensation in his stomach.
He could not one moment agree with enthusiasm to the plot, and the next moment say that the plot had better be abandoned. Some men, doubtless, could. But he could not. He was scarcely that kind of man. His proper course would have been to relate to Mrs. Prockter exactly what had passed between himself and Helen, and trust to her common sense.
At the farther end a girl was sitting at a grand piano, and in front of the piano, glorious, effulgent, monarchical, stood Emanuel Prockter, holding a piece of music horizontally at the level of his waist.
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