Chapter XXXVIII

[The Reverend Arthur Warrington rebukes his wife, Martha Warrington, upon a trivial account.]

The Red Farm, Baldon, Suffolk,
Sunday within the Octave of All Saints.

Dear Martha,--Your continued stay with my cousins at Cambridge does not seem a great compliment to your husband. John is a very estimable man, it is true; but I ask you if it is discreet or prudent that a clergyman’s wife should associate with one who is not ashamed to attend the horse races at Newmarket, and has declared from a public platform that the Anti-Field Sports’ League is a society of charlatans.

I had expected you to return and tell me more of this dreadful affair in which our cousin Henry is implicated. Is it kind to protract my anxieties? If it indeed be true that his unhappy wife has fled, then I think that the future need give us little anxiety. I say, God forbid that any harm should have overtaken the poor creature; but the human destinies are not in our hands, and we must humbly bow to them. To-day I wrote to Mr. Frogg, suggesting that we had some right to an inventory of the property. The great house at Fawlands, now let to Lord Lesborough, contains priceless furniture bought by Henry’s father, my uncle, and of this a valuation should be made. It is possible that by judicious economy and some practice of self-denial--in which I shall invite your cordial help--we might be able to live there ourselves when the present tenancy is terminated. But I shall permit no worldly ambitions to hamper my sacred calling, and in this course I must be guided by the Bishop. There is a See to be founded presently at Bury St. Edmunds, and there should be four residentiary canonries as a minimum. Here your brother’s influence with the Lord Chancellor may help us, and I should not hesitate to give a series of dinners in London to promote so worthy an aim. After all, rich men owe something to society, to do their duty in that state into which they were born; and we should be strangely forgetful of our privileges if we were merely to husband this money which the Lord has put into our keeping.

Would you not like to be a canon’s wife, Martha? Remember that a Deanery may lie beyond, or even a Bishopric. I will not permit myself to think of these things. To-morrow I should have an answer from Mr. Frogg, and also, I hope, a letter announcing your return. These sporting people, surely, are no fit companions for a clergyman’s wife!

Your devoted husband,
Arthur.