a whalebone anastasia brought a second cup for “this gentleman.” she heard well enough the trace of guilt in father maloney’s voice, knew also well enough who the gentleman was, of that you may be very sure. you cannot, believe me, pass two days, or even one day, in malford without the majority of the population becoming fully and miraculously acquainted with your whole previous history and antecedents. i’ll not vouch for the entire accuracy of the information; to do so would be mere rashness on my part, but certain it is that the information collected by anastasia was more than sufficient to account for her whalebone rigidity of bearing, and also for an unpleasant little sniff on receiving father maloney’s order.
if she imagined that this obvious disapproval of manner would affect father maloney, she was vastly mistaken, at all events as to the manner [pg 157]of effect produced. you might have imagined that twelve years in his service might have gained her some experience. but not a bit of it. her own preconceived notions of what should be were infinitely too deeply engraven to be eradicated by what was. if i desired to be trite, i might discourse for a chapter and more on this common state of affairs.
father maloney’s sitting-room was a small, shabby place. there was nothing artistic about it; there was nothing even particularly comfortable, with the exception of two large armchairs, which, having been much sat in, had become remarkably adapted to the human form. anastasia having had a field day therein that morning, it smelt both clean and bare. it had that peculiar, tidy, empty smell of a newly cleaned room.
after such a day, father maloney uttered inward prayers for patience. long experience had shown him that it was useless to inform her that a desk was specially constructed to hold scattered papers; that chairs were an infinitely preferable receptacle for books than the top shelf of a lofty bookcase; that a tobacco jar was intended[pg 158] to stand on the piano, rather than in a cupboard behind a waste-paper basket, a coal-scuttle, a broken chair, and a screen; that the bottom drawer of a bureau, which opened only by sheer physical force, was not the place he would ordinarily choose for his pipes. such information fell on ears as deaf as the ears of the proverbial adder, despite the wise charm of its utterance. therefore, having in view anastasia’s other, and excellent, qualities, father maloney merely prayed for patience, as i have indicated.
david looked round the room. in a manner of speaking, he weighed, judged and appraised the mental atmosphere from that which he noted.
firstly, he observed the shabbiness, which i have mentioned; secondly, he smelt the almost aggressive cleanliness, which i have also mentioned; thirdly, he noted a curiously combined homeliness and discomfort; fourthly, he took in various details,—a prie-dieu in one corner, with a cheap crucifix above it; a large framed photogravure of pope pius x over the mantelpiece; a small, badly coloured statue of the sacred heart on one wooden bracket, and an equally badly coloured statue of our lady on another; gilt-framed [pg 159]oleographs of saints scattered about the walls, the gilt poor and rubbed, the oleographs horribly crude; a thumbed office-book lying on a crimson plush-covered sofa, the broken corner of a lace-edged card protruding from it.
it was all amazingly artificial, and yet—well, it was real. there was the extraordinary paradox. on one side the artificiality was utterly apparent; on the other it stood for something, and that something was neither artificial, imaginary, nor even commonplacely real, but vividly, vitally real. it was like recognizing a soul in a wax-work, or finding life in a daguerreotype.
david sniffed the mental atmosphere, so to speak, vainly endeavouring to arrive at an understanding thereof, gave it up as a bad job, and then suddenly received a flash of illumination.
“it’s because it’s all real to him,” he concluded. but felt, nevertheless, that somehow the conclusion did not absolutely reach the mark.
arriving at his second cup of tea, david spoke. the conversation so far had been more or less trivial. here, it would appear, was a weightier matter.
“i’ve been asked to dine at the castle on thursday.”
[pg 160]
“yes?” from father maloney’s voice one might have judged the information as not altogether a surprise.
“i’ve accepted,” said david.
“yes?” said father maloney again. he perceived that there was something further to come.
david reddened slightly beneath his tan.
“the fact is,” he blurted out, “i’d forgotten all about dress clothes. i know people do wear the things. i haven’t got such a suit to my name.”
father maloney cut a slice of cake.
“sure, such things are not obligatory in the country at all, they are not,” quoth he calmly. “in the town now—but the country, ’tis quite another matter.” he looked straight at david’s anxious eyes.
“sure?” demanded david.
“it’s dead certain i am,” returned father maloney.
david fetched a big sigh.
“i’m awfully glad i mentioned it to you,” he responded. “the matter was sitting on my chest a bit.”
“glory be to god!” laughed father maloney.
