t
triumphing over Lady Susanna. Mr. Groschut was not a favourite with any
of the party at Manor Cross, and the Dean made himself pleasant by
describing the nature of the late chaplain's promotion. "He begged the
Bishop to let him off," said the Dean, "but his Lordship was
peremptory. It was Pugsty or leave the diocese."

"What had he done, papa?" asked Mary.

"He had promised to marry Hawkins' daughter." Hawkins was the
Brotherton bookseller on the Low Church side. "And then he denied the
promise. Unfortunately he had written letters, and Hawkins took them to
the Bishop. I should have thought Groschut would have been too sharp to
write letters."

"But what was all that to the Bishop?" asked Lord George.

"The Bishop was, I think, just a little tired of him. The Bishop is old
and meek, and Mr. Groschut thought that he could domineer. He did not
quite know his man. The Bishop is old and meek, and would have borne
much. When Mr. Groschut scolded him, I fancy that he said nothing. But
he bided his time; and when Mr. Hawkins came, then there was a decision
pronounced. It was Pugsty, or nothing."

"Is Pugsty very nasty, papa?"

"It isn't very nice, I fancy. It just borders on the Potteries, and
the population is heavy. As he must marry the bookseller's daughter
also, the union, I fear, won't be very grateful."

"I don't see why a bishop should send a bad man to any parish,"
suggested Lady Sarah.

"What is he to do with a Groschut, when he has unfortunately got hold
of one? He couldn't be turned out to starve. The Bishop would never
have been rid of him. A small living--some such thing as Pugsty--was
almost a necessity."

"But the people," said Lady Sarah. "What is to become of the poor
people?"

"Let us hope they may like him. At any rate, he will be better at
Pugsty than at Brotherton." In this way the evening passed off; and
when at ten o'clock the Dean took his departure, it was felt by every
one except Lady Susanna that the proper thing had been done.

Lord George, having thus come back to Manor Cross, remained there. He
was not altogether happy in his mind; but his banishment seemed to be
so absurd a thing that he did not return to London. At Manor Cross
there was something for him to do. In London there was nothing. And,
after all, there was a question whether, as a pure matter of right, the
Marquis had the power to pronounce such a sentence. Manor Cross no
doubt belonged to him, but then so also did Cros