of countenance--the only feature of which that struck her being a pair
of large dark-gray eyes, that were cold and earnest. His manners had the
ease of perfect confidence; and his talk and air were those of a person
who might have known how to please, if it were worth the trouble, but
who did not care twopence whether he pleased or not.

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."

"That is so true, Sir Bale; one never cares if one is not in a hurry.
That's what Martin thinks--don't we, Martin?--And then, you know, coming