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Updated: June 2, 2025
"How can I do that," he said, "when before this time to-morrow I shall have told everything to Dr. Wortle? After that, he would not let me go. He would do no more than his duty in telling me that if I proposed to go he must make it all known to Lord Bracy. But this is a trifle. I am at the present moment altogether in the dark as to what I shall do with myself when to-morrow evening comes.
He is no doubt a clergyman of the Church of England, and Dr. Wortle was within his rights in asking for his assistance; but the incumbent of a parish is responsible for those he employs, and that responsibility now rests on Dr. Wortle." There was a great deal in this that made the Doctor very angry, so angry that he did not know how to restrain himself.
The matter had been argued as though he had employed the clergyman in his church after he had known the history. "For aught I know," he said to Mrs. Wortle, "any curate coming to me might have three wives, all alive." "That would be most improbable," said Mrs. Wortle. "So was all this improbable, just as improbable. Nothing could be more improbable.
It had seemed to him that there was no possible reason why he should not fall in love as well as another. Nothing more sweet, nothing more lovely, nothing more lovable than Mary Wortle had he ever seen. He had almost made up his mind to speak on two or three occasions before he left Bowick; but either his courage or the occasion had failed him.
She loved to see him shine. But she almost wished that Mrs. Peacocke had been ugly, because there would not then have been so much danger about the school. "I'm just going up to see her," said the Doctor, as soon as he got home, "just to ask her what she wants." "I don't think she wants anything," said Mrs. Wortle, weakly. "Does she not?
Peacocke's wife, as he calls her." Dr. Wortle, when he read and re-read the article, and when the jokes which were made upon it reached his ears, as they were sure to do, was nearly maddened by what he called the heartless iniquity of the world; but his state became still worse when he received an affectionate but solemn letter from the Bishop warning him of his danger.
Wortle, who knew her husband thoroughly, was sure that he would not have done so. Mrs. Peacocke was a very beautiful woman, and the Doctor was a man who thoroughly admired beauty. To say that Mrs. Wortle was jealous would be quite untrue. She liked to see her husband talking to a pretty woman, because he would be sure to be in a good humour and sure to make the best of himself.
It was evident that there had been an intention at the palace to make what amends the palace could for the injuries it had done. "Did Lady Anne say anything about the boys?" asked Mrs. Wortle, as they were going home. "She was going to, but I would not let her. I managed to show her that I did not wish it, and she was clever enough to stop." "I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs.
There came a certain accession of sadness to her voice, as she reflected that, after all, she was talking to this woman of the death of her undoubted husband. "Yes; he is dead at last." Mrs. Wortle uttered a deep sigh. It was dreadful to her to think that a woman should speak in that way of the death of her husband. "I know all that is going on in your mind," said Mrs.
Peacocke, or a woman than his wife." "I suppose they ought to have separated when it was found out," said Mrs. Wortle. "No, no," he shouted; "I hold that they were right. He was right to cling to her, and she was bound to obey him.
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