And as he was so employed, he bethought himself whether it was fit that he should be so doing on a Sunday morning; whether it was good that he should be waiting there, in painful anxiety, to gallop over a dozen miles in order that he might not be too late with his sermon; whether his own snug room at home, with Fanny opposite to him, and his bairns crawling on the floor, with his own preparations for his own quiet service, and the warm pressure of Lady Lufton's hand when that service should be over, was not better than all this.
He could not afford not to know Harold Smith, and Mr.Sowerby, and the Duke of Omnium, he had said to himself.

He had to look to rise in the world, as other men did.

But what pleasure had come to him as yet from these intimacies?
How much had he hitherto done towards his rising?
To speak the truth he was not over well pleased with himself, as he made Mrs.Harold Smith's tea and ordered Mr.Sowerby's mutton-chops on that Sunday morning.
At a little after nine they all assembled; but even then he could not make the ladies understand that there was any cause for hurry; at least Mrs.Smith, who was the leader of the party, would not understand it.

When Mark again talked of hiring a gig, Miss Dunstable indeed said that she would join him; and seemed to be so far earnest in the matter that Mr.Sowerby hurried through his second egg in order to prevent such a catastrophe.

And then Mark absolutely did order the gig; whereupon Mrs.Smith remarked that in such case she need not hurry herself; but the waiter brought up word that all the horses of the hotel were out, excepting one pair, neither of which could go in single harness.