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Updated: June 17, 2025
How unpleasant to be mixed in this kind of encounter! How Mrs. Ryle, would dislike it if she knew! But his mind was speedily taken off his own affairs. He was conscious of the Archdeacon, standing at his full height, his eyes, as he afterwards described it a thousand times, "bursting from his head." Then, "before you could count two," the Archdeacon was striding across the street.
Joan, who only a month or two ago would have been devoured with shyness at penetrating the fastnesses of the Sampson dining-room, now felt no shyness whatever but nodded quite casually to Gladys, smiled at the McKenzies, and found a place between Cynthia Ryle and Jane D'Arcy. They all sat, bathed in the sunshine, and looked at Gladys Sampson.
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.
"This seems to me," the Archdeacon was continuing, "a most critical moment in our Cathedral's history. If we don't stand together now we we " The Archdeacon's hand relaxed. His eyes wandered. Ryle detached his arm. How strange the man was! Why, there was Samuel Hogg on the other side of the street! He had taken his hat off and was smiling. How uncomfortable!
The morning after, he was clear again, and it was almost as though nothing at all had occurred. He went about the town, and everybody behaved in a normal manner. No sign of those strange menacing figures, the drunken painter, the sinister, smiling Hogg; every one as usual. Ryle complacent and obedient; Bentinck-Major officious but subservient; Mrs.
"Not quite all one would wish," said Ryle eagerly and then, as though he remembered that some one might repeat this to Brockett, he added hurriedly, "Not that he doesn't do his best. He's an excellent fellow. Every one has their faults. It's only that he's a little too fond of adventures on his own account, likes to add things on the spur of the moment...a little fantastic sometimes."
"With the Bishop? How nice! I wish I were. He's an old dear." "He wants to consult me about some of the Jubilee services," Brandon said in his public voice. "Won't Canon Ryle mind that?" "I don't care if he does. It's his own fault, for not managing things better." "I think the Bishop must be very lonely out there. He hardly ever comes into Polchester now.
Combermere, sheathed in cloth of gold and very jolly; Mrs. Ryle, humble in grey silk; Ellen Stiles in cherry colour; Mrs. Trudon, Mrs. Forrester and Mrs. D'Arcy, their chins nearly touching over eager confidences; Dr. Puddifoot, still breathless from his last dance; Bentinick-Major, tapping with his patent-leather toe the floor, eager to be at it again; Branston the Mayor and Mrs.
"We says, sir," he began, addressing the major "I mean they says as we I mean they ain't fighting men, never having 'llsted or gone in the ryle navy; but in a case like this they will no, we will, for of course I ar'n't going to stand back have no objection to a bit of a set-to so as to lick the niggers.
Every one settled down; the voluntary was louder, the single note of the bell suddenly more urgent. Ladies looked about them. Ellen Stiles saw Miss Dobell smile, smile. Joan saw Cynthia Ryle smile, smile. Lawrence, with the expression of the Angel Gabriel waiting to admit into heaven a new troop of repentant sinners, stood expectant.
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