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Updated: June 15, 2025
Cowardice obviously, afraid of some of the home-truths that Brandon might find it his duty to deliver. A coward in his old age.... "Very fine day," said Brandon. "Beautiful," said Ronder. "Really, looks as though we are going to have good weather for the Jubilee." "Hope we do," said Brandon. "Very hard on thousands of people if it's wet." "Very," said Ronder. "I hope Mrs. Brandon is well."
There is time." His wife was illuminated with tenderness. He put down his pen and stared in front of him. What he wanted and what she wanted was a holiday. They had been too long here in this place. That was what he needed, that was the explanation of his headaches, of his tempers, of his obsession about Ronder. As soon as this Pybus St. Anthony affair was settled he would take his wife abroad.
Bentinck-Major had never had very much affection from Mr. Bentinck-Major, and had not very consciously missed it, but then she had a dog, a spaniel, whom she loved most dearly. "We're all lonely all of us to the very end," said Miss Ronder, as though she was thinking of some one in especial. And she was. She was thinking of her nephew.
Then his consciousness of Ronder extended and gave him a new consciousness of the other men. He had known for so long exactly how they looked and the words that they would say, that they were, to him, rather like the stone images of the Twelve Apostles in the niches round the West Door. Today they jumped in a moment into new life.
Now they were having the name "Ronder" with their breakfast, their dinner, and their tea. Into everything apparently his fat fingers were inserted; her father saw his rounded shadow behind every door, his rosy cheeks at every window. And yet it was very difficult to discover what exactly it was that he had done!
His hair was jet black and thick; his hand, as it gripped Ronder's, strong and bony. "I'm very glad to meet you, Canon Ronder," he said. "I've heard so much about you." His voice, as Mrs. Combermere long afterwards remarked, "has a twinkle in it." It was a jolly voice, humorous, generous but incisive, and exceedingly clear.
The figure was lost in the evening sun. Ronder stood there for a moment gazing at the bright grass, the little houses with their shining knockers, the purple shadow of the Cathedral. Had he done right? Was Wistons the man? Might he not be more dangerous than...? No, no, too late now. The fight with Brandon must move to its appointed end. Poor Brandon! Poor dear Brandon!
Before he knew where he was he found himself at the turning above the monument that led to the High School. "Here we part," he said. "Why, so we do," cried Ronder. "I do hope," said Ryle nervously, "that you'll come and see us soon. Mrs. Ryle will be delighted...." "Why, of course I will," said Ronder. "Any day you like. Good-bye. Good- bye," and he went to Bentinck-Major's.
I would let its meanest stone crush the life out of my body, and be glad enough. At least I know its power, its beauty. And I adore it! I adore it!" He looked up as he spoke; his eyes seemed to be eagerly searching for some expected face. Ronder disliked both melodrama and sentimentality. Both were here. "Take my advice," he said smiling.
For another hour and a half they stayed there, and it would have been curious for an observer to see how, in this business, Ronder obtained an absolute mastery. Foster, the fire dead in his eyes, the light gone, followed him blindly, agreeing to everything, wondering at the clearness, order and discipline of his plans.
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