In consequence of Mr. Gray’s illness, we had to have a strange curate to do duty; a man who dropped his h’s, and hurried through the service, and yet had time enough to stand in my Lady’s way, bowing to her as she came out of church, and so subservient in manner, that I believe that sooner than remain unnoticed by a countess, he would have preferred being scolded, or even cuffed.  Now I found out, that great as was my lady’s liking and approval of respect, nay, even reverence, being paid to her as a person of quality,—­a sort of tribute to her Order, which she had no individual right to remit, or, indeed, not to exact,—­yet she, being personally simple, sincere, and holding herself in low esteem, could not endure anything like the servility of Mr. Crosse, the temporary curate.  She grew absolutely to loathe his perpetual smiling and bowing; his instant agreement with the slightest opinion she uttered; his veering round as she blew the wind.  I have often said that my lady did not talk much, as she might have done had she lived among her equals.  But we all loved her so much, that we had learnt to interpret all her little ways pretty truly; and I knew what particular turns of her head, and contractions of her delicate fingers meant, as well as if she had expressed herself in words.  I began to suspect that my lady would be very thankful to have Mr. Gray about again, and doing his duty even with a conscientiousness that might amount to worrying himself, and fidgeting others; and although Mr. Gray might hold her opinions in as little esteem as those of any simple gentlewoman, she was too sensible not to feel how much flavour there was in his conversation, compared to that of Mr. Crosse, who was only her tasteless echo.

As for Miss Galindo, she was utterly and entirely a partisan of Mr. Gray’s, almost ever since she had begun to nurse him during his illness.

“You know, I never set up for reasonableness, my lady.  So I don’t pretend to say, as I might do if I were a sensible woman and all that,—­that I am convinced by Mr. Gray’s arguments of this thing or t’other.  For one thing, you see, poor fellow! he has never been able to argue, or hardly indeed to speak, for Doctor Trevor has been very peremptory.  So there’s been no scope for arguing!  But what I mean is this:—­When I see a sick man thinking always of others, and never of himself; patient, humble—­a trifle too much at times, for I’ve caught him praying to be forgiven for having neglected his work as a parish priest,” (Miss Galindo was making horrible faces, to keep back tears, squeezing up her eyes in a way which would have amused me at any other time, but when she was speaking of Mr. Gray); “when I see a downright good, religious man, I’m apt to think he’s got hold of the right clue, and that I can do no better than hold on by the tails of his coat and shut my eyes, if we’ve got to go over doubtful places on our road to Heaven.  So, my lady, you must excuse