Chapter 14.14 - Shirley

His poor clerk and sexton delighted in him. The noble patron of his living esteemed him highly. It was only with young, handsome, fashionable and stylish ladies he felt a little shy. Being himself a plain man—plain in aspect, plain in manners, plain in speech—he seemed to fear their dash, elegance, and airs. But Miss Helston had neither dash nor airs, and her native elegance was of a very quiet order, quiet as the beauty of a ground-loving hedgeflower. He was a fluent, cheerful, agreeable talker. Caroline could talk, too, in a tête-à-tête. She liked Mr. Hall to come and take the seat next to her in a party, and thus secure her from Peter Augustus Malone, Joseph Dunne, or John Sykes. And Mr. Hall never failed to avail himself of this privilege when he possibly could. Such preference, shown by a single gentleman to a single lady, would certainly in ordinary cases have set in motion the tongues of the gossips. But Cyril Hall was forty-five years old, slightly bald and slightly grey, and nobody ever said or thought he was likely to be married to Miss Helston. Nor did he think so himself. He was wedded already to his books and his parish, his kind sister Margaret, spectacle and learned-like himself, made him happy in his single state. He considered it too late to change. Besides, he had known Caroline as a pretty little girl. She had sat on his knee many a time. He had bought her toys and given her books. He felt that her friendship for him was mixed with a sort of filial respect. He could not have brought himself to attempt to give another colour to her sentiments, and his serene mind could glass a fair image without feeling its depths troubled by the reflection. When Miss Anely arrived, she was made kindly welcome by everyone.