The Nebuly Coat | Page 9

glanced at his
companion, and added, "That was her niece we met in the passage," in
so unconcerned a tone as to produce an effect opposite to that intended,
and to lead Westray to wonder whether there was any reason for his
wishing to keep the girl in the background.
In a few moments the landlady appeared. She was a woman of sixty,
tall and spare, with a sweet and even distinguished face. She, too, was
dressed in black, well-worn and shabby, but her appearance suggested
that her thinness might be attributed to privation or self-denial, rather
than to natural habit.
Preliminaries were easily arranged; indeed, the only point of discussion
was raised by Westray, who was disturbed by scruples lest the terms
which Miss Joliffe offered were too low to be fair to herself. He said so
openly, and suggested a slight increase, which, after some demur, was
gratefully accepted.
"You are too poor to have so fine a conscience," said the organist
snappishly. "If you are so scrupulous now, you will be quite unbearable
when you get rich with battening and fattening on this restoration." But
he was evidently pleased with Westray's consideration for Miss Joliffe,
and added with more cordiality: "You had better come down and share
my meal; your rooms will be like an ice-house such a night as this.
Don't be long, or the turtle will be cold, and the ortolans baked to a
cinder. I will excuse evening dress, unless you happen to have your
court suit with you."
Westray accepted the invitation with some willingness, and an hour
later he and the organist were sitting in the rush-bottomed armchairs at
either side of the fireplace. Miss Joliffe had herself cleared the table,
and brought two tumblers, wine-glasses, sugar, and a jug of water, as if
they were natural properties of the organist's sitting-room.

"I did Churchwarden Joliffe an injustice," said Mr Sharnall, with the
reflective mood that succeeds a hearty meal; "his sausages are good.
Put on some more coal, Mr Westray; it is a sinful luxury, a fire in
September, and coal at twenty-five shillings a ton; but we must have
some festivity to inaugurate the restoration and your advent. Fill a pipe
yourself, and then pass me the tobacco."
"Thank you, I do not smoke," Westray said; and, indeed, he did not
look like a smoker. He had something of the thin, unsympathetic traits
of the professional water-drinker in his face, and spoke as if he
regarded smoking as a crime for himself, and an offence for those of
less lofty principles than his own.
The organist lighted his pipe, and went on:
"This is an airy house--sanitary enough to suit our friend the doctor;
every window carefully ventilated on the crack-and-crevice principle. It
was an old inn once, when there were more people hereabouts; and if
the rain beats on the front, you can still read the name through the
colouring--the Hand of God. There used to be a market held outside,
and a century or more ago an apple-woman sold some pippins to a
customer just before this very door. He said he had paid for them, and
she said he had not; they came to wrangling, and she called Heaven to
justify her. `God strike me dead if I have ever touched your money!'
She was taken at her word, and fell dead on the cobbles. They found
clenched in her hand the two coppers for which she had lost her soul,
and it was recognised at once that nothing less than an inn could
properly commemorate such an exhibition of Divine justice. So the
Hand of God was built, and flourished while Cullerne flourished, and
fell when Cullerne fell. It stood empty ever since I can remember it, till
Miss Joliffe took it fifteen years ago. She elevated it into Bellevue
Lodge, a select boarding-house, and spent what little money that
niggardly landlord old Blandamer would give for repairs, in painting
out the Hand of God on the front. It was to be a house of resort for
Americans who came to Cullerne. They say in our guide-book that
Americans come to see Cullerne Church because some of the Pilgrim
Fathers' fathers are buried in it; but I've never seen any Americans

about. They never come to me; I have been here boy and man for sixty
years, and never knew an American do a pennyworth of good to
Cullerne Church; and they never did a pennyworth of good for Miss
Joliffe, for none of them ever came to Bellevue Lodge, and the select
boarding-house is so select that you and I are the only boarders." He
paused for a minute and went on: "Americans--no, I don't think much
of Americans; they're too hard for me--spend a lot of