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He made them each a bow, courtly enough, but there was no smile — not even an affectation of cordiality. Sir Bale, however, was chatty, and did not seem to care much what he said, or what people thought of him; and there was a suspicion of sarcasm in what he said that the rustic literality of good Mrs. Bedel did not always detect.

“I believe I have not a clergyman but you, sir, within any reasonable distance?”

“Golden Friars is the nearest,” said Mrs. Bedel, answering, as was her pleasure on all practicable occasions, for her husband. “And southwards, the nearest is Wyllarden — and by a bird’s flight that is thirteen miles and a half, and by the road more than nineteen — twenty, I may say, by the road. Ha, ha, ha! it is a long way to look for a clergyman.”

“Twenty miles of road to carry you thirteen miles across, hey? The road-makers lead you a pretty dance here; those gentlemen know how to make money, and like to show people the scenery from a variety of points. No one likes a straight road but the man who pays for it, or who, when he travels, is brute enough to wish to get to his journey’s end.”