This sense of dignity could hardly be considered excessive in a man who had been butler to "the family" for fifteen years, and who, in his present high position, was necessarily very much in contact with his inferiors.

How to reconcile his dignity with the satisfaction of his curiosity by walking towards the Green was the problem that Mr.Casson had been revolving in his mind for the last five minutes; but when he had partly solved it by taking his hands out of his pockets, and thrusting them into the armholes of his waistcoat, by throwing his head on one side, and providing himself with an air of contemptuous indifference to whatever might fall under his notice, his thoughts were diverted by the approach of the horseman whom we lately saw pausing to have another look at our friend Adam, and who now pulled up at the door of the Donnithorne Arms.
"Take off the bridle and give him a drink, ostler," said the traveller to the lad in a smock-frock, who had come out of the yard at the sound of the horse's hoofs.
"Why, what's up in your pretty village, landlord ?" he continued, getting down.

"There seems to be quite a stir." "It's a Methodis' preaching, sir; it's been gev hout as a young woman's a-going to preach on the Green," answered Mr.Casson, in a treble and wheezy voice, with a slightly mincing accent.

"Will you please to step in, sir, an' tek somethink ?" "No, I must be getting on to Rosseter.

I only want a drink for my horse.
And what does your parson say, I wonder, to a young woman preaching just under his nose ?" "Parson Irwine, sir, doesn't live here; he lives at Brox'on, over the hill there.