a feeder not very easy to please; it was
understood well by the ladies of Salisbury that if Mr. Chamberlaine
was expected to dinner, something special must be done in the way of
entertainment. He was always exceedingly well dressed. What he did
with his hours nobody knew, but he was supposed to be a man well
educated at all points. That he was such a judge of all works of
art, that not another like him was to be found in Wiltshire, nobody
doubted. It was considered that he was almost as big as the bishop,
and not a soul in Salisbury would have thought of comparing the dean
to him. But the dean had seven children, and Mr. Chamberlaine was
quite unencumbered.

Henry Gilmore was a little afraid of his uncle, but would always
declare that he was not so. "If he chooses to come over here he is
welcome," the nephew would say; "but he must live just as I do."
Nevertheless, though there was but little left of the '47 Lafitte in
the cellar of Hampton Privets, a bottle was always brought up when
Mr. Chamberlaine was there, and Mrs. Bunker, the cook, did not
pretend but that she was in a state of dismay from the hour of his
coming to that of his going. And yet, Mrs. Bunker and the other
servants liked him to be there. His presence honoured the Privets.
Even the boy who blacked his boots felt that he was blacking the
boots of a great man. It was acknowledged throughout the household
that the Squire having such an uncle, was more of a Squire than he
would have been without him. The clergyman, being such as he was, was
greater than the country gentleman. And yet Mr. Chamberlaine was only
a prebendary, was the son of a country clergyman who had happened
to marry a wife with money, and had absolutely never done anything
useful in the whole course of his life. It is often very curious to
trace the sources of greatness. With Mr. Chamberlaine, I think it
came from the whiteness of his hands, and from a certain knack he
had of looking as though he could say a great deal, though it suited
him better to be silent, and say nothing. Of outside deportment, no
doubt, he was a master.

Mr. Fenwick always declared that he was very fond of Mr.
Chamberlaine, and greatly admired him. "He is the most perfect
philosopher I ever met," Fenwick would say, "and has gone to the very
centre depth of contemplation. In another ten years he will be the
great Akinetos. He will eat and drink, and listen, and be at ease,
and desire nothing. As it is, no man that