Framley Parsonage | Page 6

which his
mother thought him. Self-conceit was not, perhaps, his greatest danger.
Had he possessed more of it, he might have been a less agreeable man,
but his course before him might on that account have been the safer. In
person he was manly tall, and fair-haired, with a square forehead,
denoting intelligence rather than thought, with clear, white hands,
filbert nails, and a power of dressing himself in such a manner that no
one should ever observe of him that his clothes were either good or bad,
shabby or smart.
Such was Mark Robarts when at the age of twenty-five, or a little more,
he married Fanny Monsell. The marriage was celebrated in his own
church, for Miss Monsell had no home of her own, and had been
staying for the last three months at Framley Court. She was given away
by Sir George Meredith, and Lady Lufton herself saw that the wedding
was what it should be, with almost as much care as she had bestowed
on that of her own daughter. The deed of marrying, the absolute tying
of the knot, was performed by the Very Reverend the Dean of
Barchester, an esteemed friend of Lady Lufton's. And Mrs Arabin, the
dean's wife, was of the party, though the distance from Barchester to
Framley is long, and the roads deep, and no railway lends its assistance.
And Lord Lufton was there of course; and people protested that he
would surely fall in love with one of the four beautiful bridesmaids, of
whom Blanche Robarts, the vicar's second sister, was by common
acknowledgement by far the most beautiful. And there was there
another and a younger sister of Mark's--who did not officiate at the
ceremony, though she was present--and of whom no prediction was
made, seeing that she was then only sixteen, but of whom mention is
made here, as it will come to pass that my readers will know her
hereafter. Her name was Lucy Robarts. And then the vicar and his wife
on their wedding tour, the old curate taking care of the Framley souls
the while. And in due time they returned; and after a further interval, in
due course a child was born to them; and then another; and after that
came a period at which we will begin our story. But before doing so,

may I not assert that all men were right in saying all manner of good
things as to the Devonshire physician, and in praising his luck in
having such a son?
'You were up at the house to-day, I suppose,' said Mark to his wife, as
he sat stretching himself in an easy chair in the drawing-room, before
the fire, previously to his dressing for dinner. It was a November
evening, and he had been out all day, and on such occasions the
aptitude for delay in dressing is very powerful. A strong-minded man
goes direct from the hall door to his chamber without encountering the
temptation of the drawing-room fire.
'No; but Lady Lufton was down here.'
'Full of suggestions in favour of Sarah Thompson?'
'Exactly so, Mark.'
'And what did you say about Sarah Thompson?'
'Very little as coming from myself: but I did hint that you thought, or
that I thought you thought, that one of the regular trained
schoolmistresses would be better.'
'But her ladyship did not agree?'
'Well, I won't exactly say that;--though I think that perhaps she did not.'
'I am sure she did not. When she has a point to carry, she is very fond
of carrying it.'
'But, you see, in this affair of the school she is thinking more of her
protege than she does of the children.'
'Tell her that, and I am sure she will give way.' And then again they
were both silent. And the vicar having thoroughly warmed himself, as
far as this might be done by facing the fire, turned round and began the
operation a tergo.

'Come, Mark, it is twenty minutes past six. Will you go and dress?'
'I'll tell you what, Fanny: she must have her way about Sarah
Thompson. You can see her to-morrow and tell her so.'
'I am sure, Mark, I would not give way, if I thought it wrong. Nor
would she expect it.'
'If I persist this time, I shall certainly have to yield the next; and then
the next may probably be more important.'
'But if it's wrong, Mark?'
'I didn't say it was wrong. Besides, if it is wrong, wrong in some
infinitesimal degree, one must put up with it. Sarah Thompson is very
respectable; the only question is whether she can teach.'
The young wife, though she did not say so, had some idea her husband
was in error. It is true that one must put