But the bishop called on Rachael once a year, and Rachael liked
him, and mingled an air of pretty penitence for past negligences
with a gracious promise of better conduct in future. His Grace was
a fine, breezy, broadminded man, polished in manner, sympathetic,
and tolerant. He had not risen to his present eminence by too
harsh a rebuke of the sinner.
His handsome young assistant, Father Graves, as he liked to be
called, was far more radical. But a great deal was forgiven this
attractive boyish celibate by the women of the Episcopal parish.
They enjoyed his scoldings, gave him their confidences, and asked
his advice, though they never followed it. His slender, black-clad
figure, with the Roman collar, was admired by many bright eyes at
receptions and church bazaars.
Still, Rachael could not somehow consider herself as seriously
asking either of these two clergymen for advice. She could see the
bishop, fitting finely groomed fingers together, pursing his lips
for a judicial reply.
"My dear Mrs. Breckenridge, that Clarence is now passing through a
most unfortunate, most lamentable, period in his life is, alas,
perfectly true. His mother--a lovely woman--was one of my wife's
dearest friends, one of my own. His first marriage was much
against her wishes, poor dear lady, and--as my wife was saying the
other day--had she lived to see him happily married again, and her
grandchild in such good hands, it could not but have been a great
joy to her. Yes. ... Now, you and I know Clarence--know his good
points, and know his faults. That's one of the sad things about us
poor human beings, we get to know each other so well! And isn't it
equally true that we're not patient enough with each other?--oh,
yes, I know we try. But do we try HARD enough? Isn't there
generally some fault on both sides, quick words, angry, hasty
actions, argument and blame, when we say things we don't mean and
that we are sure to regret, eh? We all get tired of the stupid
round of daily duty, and of the people we are nearest to--that's a
sad thing, too. We'd all like a change, like to see if we couldn't
do something else better! And so comes the break, and the cloud on
a fine old name, and all because we aren't better soldiers--we
don't want to march in line! Bless me, don't I know the feeling
myself? Why, that good little wife of mine could tell you some
tales of discouragement and disenchantment that would make you
open your eyes! But she braces me up, she puts heart into me--and
the first thing I know I'm marching again!"