trouble in respect o’ washin’ and managin’ has fell upo’ me through the journey—­I can’t say but what I think as my Lady an’ Sir Cristifer’s done a right thing by a hinnicent child as doesn’t know its right hand from its left, i’ bringing it where it’ll learn to speak summat better nor gibberish, and be brought up i’ the true religion.  For as for them furrin churches as Sir Cristifer is so unaccountable mad after, wi’ pictures o’ men an’ women a-showing themselves just for all the world as God made ’em.  I think, for my part, as it’s welly a sin to go into ’em.’

‘You’re likely to have more foreigners, however,’ said Mr. Warren, who liked to provoke the gardener, ’for Sir Christopher has engaged some Italian workmen to help in the alterations in the house.’

‘Olterations!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bellamy, in alarm.  ‘What olterations!’

‘Why,’ answered Mr. Warren, ’Sir Christopher, as I understand, is going to make a new thing of the old Manor-house both inside and out.  And he’s got portfolios full of plans and pictures coming.  It is to be cased with stone, in the Gothic style—­pretty near like the churches, you know, as far as I can make out; and the ceilings are to be beyond anything that’s been seen in the country.  Sir Christopher’s been giving a deal of study to it.’

‘Dear heart alive!’ said Mrs. Bellamy, ‘we shall be pisoned wi’ lime an’ plaster, an’ hev the house full o’ workmen colloguing wi’ the maids, an’ makin’ no end o’ mischief.’

‘That ye may ley your life on, Mrs. Bellamy,’ said Mr. Bates.  ’Howiver, I’ll noot denay that the Goothic stayle’s prithy anoof, an’ it’s woonderful how near them stoon-carvers cuts oot the shapes o’ the pine apples, an’ shamrucks, an’ rooses.  I dare sey Sir Cristhifer’ll meck a naice thing o’ the Manor, an’ there woon’t be many gentlemen’s houses i’ the coonthry as’ll coom up to’t, wi’ sich a garden an’ pleasure-groons an’ wall-fruit as King George maight be prood on.’

’Well, I can’t think as the house can be better nor it is, Gothic or no Gothic,’ said Mrs. Bellamy; ‘an’ I’ve done the picklin’ and preservin’ in it fourteen year Michaelmas was a three weeks.  But what does my lady say to’t?’

’My lady knows better than cross Sir Cristifer in what he’s set his mind on,’ said Mr. Bellamy, who objected to the critical tone of the conversation.  ’Sir Cristifer’ll hev his own way, that you may tek your oath.  An’ i’ the right on’t too.  He’s a gentleman born, an’s got the money.  But come, Mester Bates, fill your glass, an’ we’ll drink health an’ happiness to his honour an’ my lady, and then you shall give us a song.  Sir Cristifer doesn’t come hum from Italy ivery night.’

This demonstrable position was accepted without hesitation as ground for a toast; but Mr. Bates, apparently thinking that his song was not an equally reasonable sequence, ignored the second part of Mr. Bellamy’s proposal.  So Mrs. Sharp, who had been heard to say that she had no thoughts at all of marrying Mr. Bates, though he was ’a sensable fresh-coloured man as many a woman ‘ud snap at for a husband,’ enforced Mr. Bellamy’s appeal.