‘Those of a tradesman,’ returned the Rector: ‘narrow, selfish, and unpatriotic. The man is eternally writing and speaking against the continuance of the war; I have no patience with him.’
‘The war hurts his trade. I remember he remarked that only yesterday. But what other objection have you to him?’
‘That is enough.’
‘He looks the gentleman, in my sense of the term,’ pursued Shirley, ‘and it pleases me to think he is such.’
Caroline rent the Tyrian petals of the one brilliant flower in her bouquet, and answered in distinct tones:
‘Decidedly he is.’
Shirley, hearing this courageous affirmation, flashed an arch, searching glance at the speaker from her deep, expressive eyes.
‘You are his friend, at any rate,’ she said; ‘you defend him in his absence.’
‘I am both his friend and his relative,’ was the prompt reply. ‘Robert Moore is my cousin.’
‘Oh, then, you can tell me all about him! Just give me a sketch of his character.’
Insuperable embarrassment seized Caroline when this demand was made: she could not, and did not, attempt to comply with it. Her silence was immediately covered by Mrs. Pryor, who proceeded to address sundry questions to Mr. Helstone regarding a family or two in the neighbourhood, with whose connections in the South she said she was acquainted. Shirley soon withdrew her gaze from Miss Helstone’s face. She did not renew her interrogations, but, returning to her flowers, proceeded to choose a nosegay for the Rector. She presented it to him as he took his leave, and received the homage of a salute on the hand in return.
‘Be sure you wear it for my sake,’ said she.
‘Next my heart, of course,’ responded Helstone. ‘Mrs. Pryor, take care of this future magistrate, this churchwarden in perspective, this captain of yeomanry, this young squire of Briarfield; in a word, don’t let him exert himself too much; don’t let him break his neck in hunting; especially let him mind how he rides down that dangerous hill near the Hollow.’
‘I like a descent,’ said Shirley—‘I like to clear it rapidly; and especially I like that romantic Hollow with all my heart.’
‘Romantic—with a mill in it?’
‘Romantic with a mill in it. The old mill and the white cottage are each admirable in its way.’
‘And the counting-house, Mr. Keeldar?’
‘The counting-house is better than my bloom-coloured drawing-room. I adore the counting-house.’
‘And the trade? The cloth—the greasy wool—the polluting dying-vats?’
‘The trade is to be thoroughly respected.’
‘And the tradesman is a hero? Good!’
‘I am glad to hear you say so. I thought the tradesman looked heroic.’