Ella Carruthers lunched at Abington Abbey on that day. The whole family were there except Young George, who was at school,—George Grafton, Caroline, Beatrix, Barbara, and Miss Waterhouse. The old Rector of Surley had been ill almost ever since the Graftons had come to live at the Abbey, and they had hardly known him. So the talk, as far as it concerned his death, was almost entirely devoted to the question of his successor.

The family took a keen interest in it. George Grafton was patron of the living Abington, and the Vicar of Abington, the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer, was known to cherish hopes that the richer living of Surley would be offered to him. In that case Grafton would have to present another Vicar to Abington, and his family did not propose to deprive him of their advice upon the subject. Also, none of them liked the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer.

"We're divided, you see, Ella," said Caroline. "We should like to get rid of Lord Salisbury, but we don't think he deserves to have Surley."

"And we rather love Denis," said Beatrix. "He is frightfully solemn, and he hasn't shown any indication of loving any of us, the few times we have met him, which annoys us a little: but we're on his side, on the whole. We would keep Lord Salisbury for the sake of letting you have Denis."

"Thank you very much," said Ella. "We should all have to bear our crosses, whatever happened. Mine would be Rhoda and Ethel, if Denis gets it. But, as I told you once before, I should immediately set about finding him a wife, and then they would have to go. I think they would try to stop him marrying, whoever it was, and I should enjoy myself over it. I suppose none of you would care to take the situation. I could recommend you."

"I might," said Barbara, "if you'll wait till I have my hair up. I don't feel that I could love Denis passionately, but I could be a good wife to him if he didn't beat me."

"Barbara darling," expostulated Miss Waterhouse. "I don't like to hear you talk in that way. It is not delicate."

"I didn't mean it, Dragon dear," said Barbara. "I'm the most delicate-minded female, really."

"How would it be," said Grafton, "if we presented Denis to Abington, supposing Mercer got Surley?"

The suggestion was received with applause. "Really, Daddy, you're quite brilliant," said Beatrix. "Lord Salisbury would hate that more than anything, except Denis getting Surley."

"Beatrix dear," said Miss Waterhouse. "I don't think you should talk as if the object of presenting one clergyman to a living were to annoy another one."

"Quite right, Dragon," said Grafton. "The less we annoy the clergy the better, though they often annoy us."

"You would have Rhoda and Ethel here," Ella Carruthers warned them.

"Then I don't think you possibly can, Dad," said Caroline. "If you offer it to Denis you must stipulate that he pensions them off. I think that what we really want is a very nice old clergyman with white hair."

"A trifle infirm," added Beatrix.

"And with a nice old wife who goes about in a basket chaise," said Barbara. "Or else a very beautiful curate with a moustache, that I could fall in love with. Dragon darling, don't say I oughtn't to have said that. I must fall in love sometime, you know, and it would be so good for me to begin with a clergyman."

Fine weather had set in so early that year that tennis and croquet courts had already been marked out, and they played lawn tennis after luncheon. The court was visible from the road, little frequented, that ran through the park, and by and by the Vicar himself came along it, with his wife, and called out to announce that he was coming in.

"That's because he sees you here, Ella," said Beatrix. "He has rather left off inviting himself in that way. He will want to know if the Bishop has dropped any hints. Couldn't you possibly make up a few?"

There was a slight gleam in Ella Carruthers's eye as she took the suggestion, though there was no time to reply to it, for the Vicar was already approaching, pomposity clothing him like a garment, his smiling, good-natured little wife by his side. The game, which was nearly finished, was dropped by consent, and the Vicar, after requesting that it should be continued, but not pressing the point, was content to be surrounded by them on the seats that were disposed at the edge of the lawn.

"We were so sorry to hear of dear old Mr. Cooper's death," said Mrs. Mercer to Ella. "I'm sure it seems no time since he was as well and strong as anybody. I could hardly believe it when I heard it."

"It has been expected for a long time," said her husband. "He has passed away in the ripeness of his years, and there is no need to repine. We went over this morning to offer our sympathy to those who are left behind. They are bearing up very well, I am happy to say. But you had just been to see them yourself, Mrs. Carruthers. They were much gratified by your kind visit, and I hear that his Lordship is to come over and take part in the funeral."

"Yes, I believe so," said Ella. "I hope to get him to stay the night with me. It is some time since he came to see me, and we shall have a good deal to talk over."

"Ah!" said the Vicar, with semi-archness. "I know how much he values your advice. He has told me so himself."

"Really, Albert?" queried Mrs. Mercer, much interested. "You never told me that."

The Vicar looked slightly annoyed. "It was when I was over at the Palace," he said somewhat inadequately; and turned to Ella again. "It is rather pathetic," he said, "the way those poor girls cling to the idea that their young brother may be appointed to succeed their father. They even gain some encouragement from something that you let fall, as to his Lordship's intentions, no doubt with the idea of comforting them. But it would never do, you know. No Bishop in these days could afford to make such an appointment. It would create a scandal."

"Didn't you say, Albert, that it would amount almost to the sin of simony?" enquired Mrs. Mercer.

"Oh! good heavens, Ella!" exclaimed Grafton. "Do preserve your uncle from the sin of simony. That would be too awful."

The Vicar, sensitive to ridicule like most people of self-conceit, after a glance at the faces round him, turned upon his wife. "I should never have said so absurd a thing in such a connection," he said. "You are thinking of something quite different."

Ella Carruthers broke in. "My uncle has only been Bishop here for a little over a year," she said. "He has told me more than once that there has been a great deal to learn. And I know I have helped him in one or two things."

A gleam of satisfaction shone in the Vicar's eye. She seemed to be appealing to him for advice, which she could pass on, and he was quite ready to give it. "Your uncle," he said, "has spent all his life of service—hard and devoted service, I know—in large towns. Though no man could rival him in knowledge of urban clerical problems, it would be nothing to be surprised at if he were not yet fully alive to all the currents of opinion among the country clergy."

"You have lived mostly in the country, Ella," said Grafton. "If you could give your uncle a few hints as to what the clergy think about these things he might perhaps be glad of it."

"Oh, I'm sure he would," broke in Mrs. Mercer enthusiastically. "Dear Mrs. Carruthers, please try. It would be such a splendid thing. And I'm sure there's nobody who could prime you up better than my husband. He has made a life-long study of these questions, just as the Bishop has about town questions."

The Vicar almost simpered. "I wouldn't compare any knowledge of mine with the Bishop's, my dear," he said. "At the same time, in my humble sphere, I have observed, and thought, and consulted with men perhaps wiser than myself, and I think I do know the conditions of a country diocese such as this, possibly, if I may say so without being misunderstood, as well as any Bishop."

"I know my uncle is always anxious to discover the opinions of people who really know things," said Ella. "And he is certainly not above taking advice."

"I should hardly presume to offer advice," said the Vicar. "For one thing, my position as incumbent of one of the less important livings in the Diocese would hardly justify me in offering advice to my Diocesan. Personally, I am more than contented with my lot, and should never lift so much as a finger to change it. But if circumstances did conspire to move me to a higher sphere of influence, where it would not be unbecoming to lift my voice in advice, I should consider it my duty to do so, if asked, knowing that possibly I could thus serve my generation."

"I suppose the living of Surley would hardly give you that opportunity, would it?" asked Ella. "I think there are fewer inhabitants, and it is a poor little church."

"Oh, yes, dear Mrs. Carruthers, it certainly would," said Mrs. Mercer. "The Rector of Surley has always been a person of importance. Even old Mr. Cooper was, though compared with my husband—"

"Oh, please, my dear!" interposed her husband. "Let me speak for myself. Your question wants considering, Mrs. Carruthers. It is true, as my wife says, that the Rector of Surley has always been considered a person of some weight in the Diocese. The last two incumbents were Rural Deans, and Mr. Cooper would have been so if he had not considered himself too old when the office fell vacant. Yes, I think I may say that the Rectorate of Surley would provide scope for a man anxious to serve in the way we have been discussing, though it was not actually the sort of position I had in my mind. But I should think it probable that his Lordship has already made his decision. If not, and you have an opportunity of whispering a word in his ear, dear lady, warn him against such a grave mistake as the appointment of young Cooper would be. I speak—"

"But don't, for goodness sake, tell Rhoda and Ethel that my husband advised you to," interrupted Mrs. Mercer. "We should never hear the last of it."

The Vicar showed signs of acute annoyance. "Really, Gertrude!" he said. "One would think I was doing something underhand in speaking as I do."

"Well, dear, of course we have both sympathised with them when they told us of their hopes. I know it was only to—"

But he would not let her go on. "For young Cooper as a man I have the utmost respect," he said, "and if he were twenty or even perhaps ten years older and had proved himself in his sacred calling, as he will do—as I'm sure he will do—I should say institute him as Rector of Surley, and the blessing of God go with him. But it is not a personal question. Religion is too sacred a thing to be treated in that way, and I have a duty to perform that can't be tampered with. For the Bishop's own sake he should be warned against making a mistake of that sort, Rhoda and Ethel or no Rhoda and Ethel."

"Well, Ella," said Grafton, rising, "you know what to do and say, if you're asked. I'm sorry for young Denis, because I should like to see him settled in a good fat living. But you see it wouldn't do, and your uncle ought to be warned against it."

The Vicar also rose. "At the same time," he said, "I shouldn't like it to be thought that the advice had come from me. It might almost look as if I wanted the living for myself, and I should greatly dislike that idea going abroad."

"But you wouldn't refuse it if my uncle were persuaded that you were the best man to give it to?" hazarded Ella.

"I should consider it," said the Vicar, after a moment's weighty pause. "I can't say more at present than that I should consider it."

As his wife also seemed about to express herself upon the subject he took his leave, somewhat hurriedly, and carried her along with him. Grafton and Caroline accompanied them to the garden gate.

"Isn't he the limit?" enquired Beatrix when they were out of earshot. "Can he think we're all such fools as not to see through him?"

"I wanted to see how far he would go," said Ella. "Really, I think it would be almost worth while having him at Surley to be able to play with him. But from this moment I am heart and soul on the side of Denis, Rhoda and Ethel or no Rhoda and Ethel."

This was not the only clerical invasion of the Abbey on that afternoon. It contained a household which presented such attractions to friendly neighbours that a day seldom went by without a visit from one or more of them. Worthing, the agent of the Abington property, as well as of the adjoining one of Wilborough, and his pupil, Maurice Bradby, came to reinforce the tennis players. So did Richard Mansergh, the eldest son of Sir Alexander, of Wilborough, a sailor home on leave, and already if appearances went for anything, desperately enamoured of Beatrix. And about tea-time the party was joined by the Reverend Rogers Williams, Vicar of Feltham, and his wife, who came over on bicycles, accompanied by several Airedale terriers, whose breeding they supervised in the intervals of more serious occupations. They were known as the Breezy Bills in the Grafton family, and a closer intimacy had been established with them during the previous holidays by Young George, who had taken a youthful liking to their daughter, Maggie, aged fourteen.

Tea was in the Long Gallery upstairs, and the talk was mostly about the Rectory of Surley.

"Are you a candidate?" asked Grafton of Mr. Williams. "Because if so we shall have to be careful what we say. I may tell you at once that our sympathies are with young Denis Cooper."

"I a candidate!" exclaimed Mr. Williams with a hearty laugh—he laughed heartily at anything in which a humourous significance might be inferred, and at many things where it was not apparent,—"Oh, good gracious, no! Wouldn't leave Feltham for anything in the world. We've got everything exactly as we like it there, haven't we, dear?"

"Yes," said his wife. "The kennels couldn't be beaten and they've cost us a lot of money, which we should lose if we moved. And there's the carpentering shop too. Oh, no, we look on at it all and laugh about it, don't we, dear?"

Mr. Williams laughed about it. "I don't know about young Denis," he said. "That would be rather a tall order, as things go now-a-days. There's one fellow, though, that I hope won't get it. But perhaps I'd better not say who he is in this company." He laughed again.

"Oh, we know who you mean," said Caroline. "We hope he won't get it either. But why shouldn't Denis?"

"I suppose because all the rest of us would kick up such a fuss," said Mr. Williams, laughing most heartily. "I shouldn't on my own account, but there are lots of older men who have worked hard all their lives who ought to be considered before a young one just beginning. There's nothing to do there either. A young fellow ought to have something to do."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Ella. "Rhoda and Ethel find a great deal to do, and Denis is never idle. I can't take your view of it at all, and I hope my uncle won't."

Mr. Williams laughed. "We were wondering how much Mrs. Carruthers might have to do with it as we rode over, weren't we, dear?" he asked of his wife, and laughed again.

"We hope she is going to have a great deal to do with it," said Beatrix. "We are heart and soul for Denis."

Richard Mansergh, who was sitting next to her, frowned slightly. "Brill—our fellow—was saying that with that big house and good income there ought to be a sort of community there," he said.

"That's just what Father Brill would say," said Mrs. Williams. "Everybody likes Father Brill; but preserve us from having our nice Rectories and Vicarages filled with people of his sort. I don't mean his sort personally, but celibates stalking about in cassocks, and no women in the parsonages for poor people to come to. It wouldn't do at all."

"I'm sure it wouldn't," said Worthing. "You can't change and muddle up English country life like that. What were all the parsons' houses built for? You've got them in every village in the land, so that there should be an educated man able to live like a gentleman; and now people like Brill want to put it all back again. It won't do."

"You speak with considerable heat, James," said Grafton.

"Well, I think it's a lot of tommy-rot," said Worthing, "and I've often told Brill so. The people don't want it. The happiest state of things for them is where an old-fashioned Squire is doing his duty, and an old-fashioned parson is doing his duty."

"And an old-fashioned agent is doing his duty," hazarded Barbara.

Worthing eyed her askance, and then chuckled. "You're a cheeky young baggage," he said, "but you're not far wrong either. The agent has to drive the team, and it wants some driving. It's the human side that's wanted; that's what it is—the human side."

He came abruptly to an end, with a frown of perplexity on his ample, not over-intellectual face. It was Caroline who interpreted his ideas for him further.

"You're quite right, dear Uncle Jimmy," she said. "That's what strikes one when one gets into country life a little. The system may not be perfect, but it works splendidly with the right people to look after it."

Her father smiled at her indulgently. "What do you know about the system?" he asked her.

"Oh, I've been reading," she said. "I read a lot when you are up in London, Dad, and don't want looking after."

"I don't see much wrong with the system," said Richard Mansergh. "It's worked jolly well for hundreds of years, and it's only the Radicals who want to upset it."

"The naughty wicked Radicals, of course!" said Beatrix. "I like them better than the Tories myself. I once met Mr. Birrell, and he's the sweetest old lamb in the world."

"One swallow doesn't make a summer," said Richard. "Wait till you've met a few more."

Mr. Williams laughed heartily. "They'd like to turn us all out," he said. "But we won't be turned out—not without a struggle. I don't think there's much wrong with the system either, and I'd rather see young Denis Rector of Surley than one of Father Brill's communities there."

"Oh, so would I," said Ella, "and I hope my uncle will make him. He's old for his years already, and every day he'll get older."

"Do you think the Bishop will appoint him?" asked Mr. Williams.

"I don't know," she said. "If I knew I'd say so. But I do know that whatever he does it won't be because he's afraid of what people will say about him."