Mr. Farquhar, though not a parishioner of Mr. Ely’s, was one of his warmest admirers, and thought he would make an unexceptionable son-in-law, in spite of his being of no particular ‘family’.  Mr. Farquhar was susceptible on the point of ’blood’—­his own circulating fluid, which animated a short and somewhat flabby person, being, he considered, of very superior quality.

‘By the by,’ he said, with a certain pomposity counteracted by a lisp, ’what an ath Barton makth of himthelf, about that Bridmain and the Counteth, ath she callth herthelf.  After you were gone the other evening, Mithith Farquhar wath telling him the general opinion about them in the neighbourhood, and he got quite red and angry.  Bleth your thoul, he believth the whole thtory about her Polish huthband and hith wonderful ethcapeth; and ath for her—­why, he thinkth her perfection, a woman of motht refined fellingth, and no end of thtuff.’

Mr. Ely smiled.  ’Some people would say our friend Barton was not the best judge of refinement.  Perhaps the lady flatters him a little, and we men are susceptible.  She goes to Shepperton Church every Sunday—­drawn there, let us suppose, by Mr. Barton’s eloquence.’

‘Pshaw,’ said Mr. Farquhar:  ’Now, to my mind, you have only to look at that woman to thee what she ith—­throwing her eyth about when she comth into church, and drething in a way to attract attention.  I should thay, she’th tired of her brother Bridmain, and looking out for another brother with a thtronger family likeneth.  Mithith Farquhar ith very fond of Mithith Barton, and ith quite dithtrethed that she should athothiate with thuch a woman, tho she attacked him on the thubject purpothly.  But I tell her it’th of no uthe, with a pig-headed fellow like him.  Barton’th well-meaning enough, but tho contheited.  I’ve left off giving him my advithe.’

Mr. Ely smiled inwardly and said to himself, ‘What a punishment!’ But to Mr. Farquhar he said, ’Barton might be more judicious, it must be confessed.’  He was getting tired, and did not want to develop the subject.

‘Why, nobody vithit-th them but the Bartonth,’ continued Mr. Farquhar, ’and why should thuch people come here, unleth they had particular reathonth for preferring a neighbourhood where they are not known?  Pooh! it lookth bad on the very fathe of it. You called on them, now; how did you find them?’

’O!—­Mr. Bridmain strikes me as a common sort of man, who is making an effort to seem wise and well-bred.  He comes down on one tremendously with political information, and seems knowing about the king of the French.  The Countess is certainly a handsome woman, but she puts on the grand air a little too powerfully.  Woodcock was immensely taken with her, and insisted on his wife’s calling on her and asking her to dinner; but I think Mrs. Woodcock turned restive after the first visit, and wouldn’t invite her again.’

’Ha, ha!  Woodcock hath alwayth a thoft place in hith heart for a pretty fathe.  It’th odd how he came to marry that plain woman, and no fortune either.’