somewhat duller if the Rector's lady had been less free-spoken and less of a
skinflint. Indeed, both the farmers and labourers in the parishes of Freshitt
and Tipton would have felt a sad lack of conversation but for the stories about
what Mrs. Cadwallader said and did: a lady of immeasurably high birth,
descended, as it were, from unknown earls, dim as the crowd of heroic shades -
who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in the most companionable
manner, though with a turn of tongue that let you know who she was. Such a lady
gave a neighbourliness to both rank and religion, and mitigated the bitterness
of uncommuted tithe. A much more exemplary character with an infusion of sour
dignity would not have furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine
Articles, and would have been less socially uniting.
    Mr. Brooke, seeing Mrs. Cadwallader's merits from a different point of view,
winced a little when her name was announced in the library, where he was sitting
alone.
    »I see you have had our Lowick Cicero here,« she said, seating herself
comfortably, throwing back her wraps, and showing a thin but well-built figure.
»I suspect you and he are brewing some bad politics, else you would not be
seeing so much of the lively man. I shall inform against you: remember you are
both suspicious characters since you took Peel's side about the Catholic Bill. I
shall tell everybody that you are going to put up for Middlemarch on the Whig
side when old Pinkerton resigns, and that Casaubon is going to help you in an
underhand manner: going to bribe the voters with pamphlets, and throw open the
public-houses to distribute them. Come, confess!«
    »Nothing of the sort,« said Mr. Brooke, smiling and rubbing his eye-glasses,
but really blushing a little at the impeachment. »Casaubon and I don't talk
politics much. He doesn't care much about the philanthropic side of things;
punishments, and that kind of thing. He only cares about Church questions. That
is not my line of action, you know.«
    »Ra-a-ther too much, my friend. I have heard of your doings. Who was it that
sold his bit of land to the Papists at Middlemarch? I believe you bought it on
purpose. You are a perfect Guy Faux. See if you are not burnt in effigy this 5th
of November coming. Humphrey would not come to quarrel with you about it, so I
am come.