had given her. Even Mrs Pansey was pleased to express her
approval of so well chosen a text, and looked significantly at several
of her friends as she remarked that she hoped they would take its
warning to heart.

George came upon his father's chaplain, grinning like a heathen idol, in
the midst of a tempestuous ocean of petticoats, and the bland way in
which he sniffed up the incense of praise showed how grateful such
homage was to his vain nature. At that moment he saw himself a future
bishop, and that at no very great distance of time. Indeed, had the
election of such a prelate been in the hands of his admirers, he would
have been elevated that very moment to the nearest vacant episcopalian
throne. Captain Pendle looked on contemptuously at this priest-worship.

'The sneaking cad!' he thought, sneering at the excellent Cargrim. 'I
dare say he thinks he is the greatest man in Beorminster just now. He
looks as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.'

There was no love lost between the chaplain and the captain, for on
several occasions the latter had found Cargrim a slippery customer, and
lax in his notions of honour; while the curate, knowing that he had not
been clever enough to hoodwink George, hated him with all the fervour
and malice of his petty soul. However, he hoped soon to have the power
to wound Captain Pendle through his father, so he could afford to smile
blandly in response to the young soldier's contemptuous look. And he
smiled more than ever when brisk Miss Whichello, with her small face,
ruddy as a winter apple, marched up and joined in the congratulations.

'In future I shall call you Boanerges, Mr Cargrim,' she cried, her
bright little eyes dancing. 'You quite frightened me. I looked into my
mind to see what sins I had committed.'

'And found none, I'm sure,' said the courtly chaplain.

'You would have found one if you had looked long enough,' growled Mrs
Pansey, who hated the old maid as a rival practitioner amongst the poor,
'and that is, you did not bring your niece to hear the sermon. I don't
call such carelessness Christianity.'

'Don't look at my sins through a microscope, Mrs Pansey. I did not bring
Mab because she is not well.'

'Oh, really, dear Miss Winchello,' chimed in Daisy Norsham. 'Why, I
thought that your sweet niece looked the very picture of health. All
those strong, tall women do; not like poor little me.'

'You need dieting,' retorted Miss Whichello, with a disparaging