One of Our Conquerors - World eBook Library

George Meredith
did not place the name of Matilda Pridden beside it or in
any way compare two such entirely different persons. At the
same time and most earnestly, while dreading to hear, he
desired to have Matilda Pridden’s opinion of the case distressing
him. He never could hear it, because he could never
be allowed to expound the case to her. Skepsey sighed again:
he as much as uttered: Oh, if we had a few thousands like
her!—But what if we do have them? They won’t marry! There
they are, all that the country requires in wives and mothers;
and like Miss Priscilla Graves, they won’t marry!
He looked through sad thoughts across the benches of the
compartments to the farther end of the carriage, where sat
the Rev. Septimus Barmby, looking at him through a meditation
as obscure if not so mournful. Few are the third-class
passengers outward at that early hour in the winter season,
and Skepsey’s gymnastics to get beside the Rev. Septimus
were unimpeded; though a tight-packed carriage of us poor
journaliers would not have obstructed them with as much as
a sneer. Mr. Barmby and Skepsey greeted. The latter said, he
had a holiday, to pay a visit to Miss Nesta. The former said,
he hoped he should see Miss Nesta. Skepsey then rapidly
brought the conversation to a point where Matilda Pridden
was comprised. He discoursed of the ‘Army’ and her position
in the Army, giving instances of her bravery, the devotion
shown by her to the cause of morality, in all its forms.
Mr. Barmby had his fortunes on his hands at the moment,
he could not lend an attentive ear; and he disliked this Army,
the title it had taken, and the mixing of women and men in
its ranks; not to speak of a presumption in its proceedings,
and the public marching and singing. Moreover, he enjoyed
his one or two permissible glasses: he doubted that the Chiefs
of the Army had common benevolence for the inoffensive
pipe. But the cause of morality was precious to him; morality
and a fit of softness, and the union of the happiest contrast
of voices, had set him for a short while, before the dawn
of Nesta’s day, hankering after Priscilla Graves. Skepsey’s narrative
of Matilda Pridden’s work down at the East of London;
was effective; it had the ring to thrill a responsive chord
in Mr. Barmby, who mused on London’s East, and martyrly
service there. His present expectations were of a very different
sort; but a beautiful bride, bringing us wealth, is no misleading
beam, if we direct the riches rightly. Septimus, a soli-
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