ly dared to take him to task, him himself. Were she to
do so, and should he then tell her to mind her own business--as he
probably might do, though not in those words--there would be a schism
in the parish; and almost anything would be better than that. The
whole work of her life would be upset, all the outlets of her energy
would be impeded if not absolutely closed, if a state of things were
to come to pass in which she and the parson of her parish should not
be on good terms.

But what was to be done? Early in the winter he had gone to
Chaldicotes and to Gatherum Castle, consorting with gamblers, Whigs,
atheists, men of loose pleasure, and Proudieites. That she had
condoned; and now he was turning out a hunting parson on her hands.
It was all very well for Fanny to say that he merely looked at the
hounds as he rode about his parish. Fanny might be deceived. Being
his wife, it might be her duty not to see her husband's iniquities.
But Lady Lufton could not be deceived. She knew very well in what
part of the county Cobbold's Ashes lay. It was not in Framley
parish, nor in the next parish to it. It was half-way across to
Chaldicotes--in the western division; and she had heard of that run
in which two horses had been killed, and in which Parson Robarts had
won such immortal glory among West Barsetshire sportsmen. It was not
easy to keep Lady Lufton in the dark as to matters occurring in her
own county.

All these things she knew, but as yet had not noticed, grieving over
them in her own heart the more on that account. Spoken grief relieves
itself; and when one can give counsel, one always hopes at least
that that counsel will be effective. To her son she had said, more
than once, that it was a pity that Mr. Robarts should follow the
hounds.--"The world has agreed that it is unbecoming in a clergyman,"
she would urge, in her deprecatory tone. But her son would by no
means give her any comfort. "He doesn't hunt, you know--not as I do,"
he would say. "And if he did, I really don't see the harm of it. A
man must have some amusement, even if he be an archbishop." "He has
amusement at home," Lady Lufton would answer. "What does his wife
do--and his sister?" This allusion to Lucy, however, was very soon
dropped.

Lord Lufton would in no wise help her. He would not even passively
discourage the vicar, or refrain from offering to give him a seat in
going to the meets. Mark and Lord Lufton had been boys together, and
his lords