Miss Eleanor,—that was his youngest,—she married Mr. Bold as her first. But now she's the dean's lady."
"Oh; the dean's lady, is she?"
"Yes, indeed. And what do you think, sir? Mr. Harding might have been dean himself if he'd liked. They did offer it to him."
"And he refused it?"
"Indeed he did, sir."
"Nolo decanari. I never heard of that before. What made him so modest?"
"Just that, sir; because he is modest. He's past his seventy now,—ever so much; but he's just as modest as a young girl. A deal more modest than some of them. To see him and his granddaughter together!"
"And who is his granddaughter?"
"Why, Lady Dumbello, as will be the Marchioness of Hartletop."
"I know Lady Dumbello," said Crosbie; not meaning, however, to boast to the verger of his noble acquaintance.
"Oh, do you, sir?" said the man, unconsciously touching his hat at this sign of greatness in the stranger; though in truth he had no love for her ladyship. "Perhaps you're going to be one of the party at Courcy Castle."
"Well, I believe I am."
"You'll find her ladyship there before you. She lunched with her aunt at the deanery as she went through, yesterday; finding it too much trouble to go out to her father's, at Plumstead. Her father is the archdeacon, you know. They do say,—but her ladyship is your friend!"
"No friend at all; only a very slight acquaintance. She's quite as much above my line as she is above her father's."
"Well, she is above them all. They say she would hardly as much as speak to the old gentleman."
"What, her father?"
"No, Mr. Harding; he that chanted the Litany just now. There he is, sir, coming out of the deanery."
They were now standing at the door leading out from one of the transepts, and Mr. Harding passed them as they were speaking together. He was a little, withered, shambling old man, with bent shoulders, dressed in knee-breeches and long black gaiters, which hung rather loosely about his poor old legs,—rubbing his hands one over the other as he went. And yet he walked quickly; not tottering
