‘I do not see that at all,’ said John.  ’Mr Crawley is not more than any other man just because he’s a clergyman.  I hate all that kind of clap-trap.  There are a lot of people here in Silverbridge who think the matter shouldn’t be followed up, just because the man is in a position which makes the crime more criminal in him than it would be in another.’

‘But I feel sure that Mr Crawley has committed no crime at all,’ said Mary.

‘My dear,’ said Mrs Walker, ’I have just said that I would rather you would not talk about it.  Papa will be in directly.’

‘I won’t, mamma, only—­’

‘Only! yes; just only!’ said John.  ’She’d go on till dinner if anyone would stay to hear her.’

‘You’ve said twice as much as I have, John.’  But John had left the room before his sister’s words could reach him.

‘You know, mamma, it is quite impossible not to help thinking of it,’ said Mary.

‘I daresay it is, my dear.’

‘And when one knows the people it does make it so dreadful.’

’But do you know them?  I never spoke to Mr Crawley in my life, and I do not think I ever saw her.’

’I knew Grace very well—­when she used to come first to Miss Prettyman’s school.’

‘Poor girl.  I pity her.’

’Pity her!  Pity is no word for it, mamma.  My heart bleeds for them.  And yet I do not believe for a moment that he stole the cheque.  How can it be possible?  For though he may have been in debt because they have been so very, very, poor, yet we all know that he has been an excellent clergyman.  When the Robartses were dining here last, I heard Mrs Robarts say that for piety and devotion to his duties she had hardly ever seen anyone equal to him.  And the Robartses know more of them than anybody.’

‘They say that the dean is his great friend.’

’What a pity it is that the Arabins should be away just now when he is in such trouble.’  And in this way the mother and daughter went on discussing the question of the clergyman’s guilt in spite of Mrs Walker’s expressed desire that nothing more might be said about it.  But Mrs Walker, like many other mothers, was apt to be more free in converse with her daughter than she was with her son.  While they were thus talking the father came in from his office, and then the subject was dropped.  He was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, with grey hair, rather short, and somewhat corpulent, but still gifted with that amount of personal comeliness which comfortable position and the respect of others will generally seem to give.  A man rarely carries himself meanly whom the world holds in high esteem.

‘I am very tired, my dear,’ said Mr Walker.

’You look tired.  Come and sit down for a few minutes before you dress.  Mary, get your father’s slippers.’  Mary instantly ran to the door.

‘Thanks, my darling,’ said the father.  And then he whispered to his wife, as soon as Mary was out of hearing.  ’I fear the unfortunate man is guilty.  I fear he is!  I fear he is!’