Starting for church the next morning several minutes earlier than was
usual with him, the steward intentionally loitered along the road from
the village till old Mr. Springrove overtook him. Manston spoke very
civilly of the morning, and of the weather, asking how the farmer’s
barometer stood, and when it was probable that the wind might change. It
was not in Mr. Springrove’s nature--going to church as he was, too--to
return anything but a civil answer to such civil questions, however his
feelings might have been biassed by late events. The conversation was
continued on terms of greater friendliness.
‘You must be feeling settled again by this time, Mr. Springrove, after
the rough turn-out you had on that terrible night in November.’
‘Ay, but I don’t know about feeling settled, either, Mr. Manston. The
old window in the chimney-corner of the old house I shall never forget.
No window in the chimney-corner where I am now, and I had been used to
it for more than fifty years. Ted says ‘tis a great loss to me, and he
knows exactly what I feel.’
‘Your son is again in a good situation, I believe?’ said Manston,
imitating that inquisitiveness into the private affairs of the natives
which passes for high breeding in country villages.
‘Yes, sir. I hope he’ll keep it, or do something else and stick to it.’
‘’Tis to be hoped he’ll be steady now.’
‘He’s always been that, I assure ‘ee,’ said the old man tartly.
‘Yes--yes--I mean intellectually steady. Intellectual wild oats will
thrive in a soil of the strictest morality.’
‘Intellectual gingerbread! Ted’s steady enough--that’s all I know about
it.’
‘Of course--of course. Has he respectable lodgings? My own experience
has shown me that that’s a great thing to a young man living alone in
London.’
‘Warwick Street, Charing Cross--that’s where he is.’
‘Well, to be sure--strange! A very dear friend of mine used to live at
number fifty-two in that very same street.’
‘Edward lives at number forty-nine--how very near being the same house!’
said the old farmer, pleased in spite of himself.
‘Very,’ said Manston. ‘Well, I suppose we had better step along a little
quicker, Mr. Springrove; the parson’s bell has just begun.’
‘Number forty-nine,’ he murmured.