to one another!"

Of course Molly had taken the most effectual way possible to prevent any
such occurrence. Phoebe did not dare to lift her eyes; and the chaplain
was, if possible, the shyer of the two, and had been dragged there
against his will by invincible Molly. Neither would have known what to
do, if Gatty had not kindly come to the rescue.

"Pray sit down, Mr Edmundson," she said, in a quiet, natural way, as if
nothing had happened. "I thought I had seen you riding forth, half an
hour ago; I suppose it must have been some one else."

"I--ah--yes--no, I have not been riding to-day," stammered the perturbed
divine.

"Twas a very pleasant morning for a ride," said mediating Gatty.

"Very pleasant, Madam," answered the chaplain.

"Have you quite lost your catarrh, Mr Edmundson?"

"Quite, I thank you, Madam."

"I believe my mother wishes to talk with you of Jack Flint, Mr
Edmundson."

"Yes, Madam?"

"The lad hath been well spoken of to her for the under-gardener's boy's
place. I think she wished to have your opinion of him."

"Yes, Madam."

"Is the boy of a choleric disposition?"

"Possibly, Madam."

"But what think you, Mr Edmundson?"

"Madam, I--ah--I cannot say, Madam."

"I think I see Mr Lamb beckoning to you," observed Gatty, wishful to
relieve the poor _gauche_ chaplain from his uncomfortable position.

"Madam, I thank you--ah--very much, Madam." And Mr Edmundson made a
dive into the throng, and disappeared behind a quantity of silk brocade
and Brussels lace. Phoebe ventured to steal a glance at him as he
departed. She found that the person to whom she had been so
unceremoniously handed over, alike by Madam, Lady Delawarr, and Molly,
was a thickset man of fifty years, partially bald, with small,
expressionless features. He was not more fascinating to look at than to
talk to, and Phoebe could only entertain a faint hope that his preaching
might be an improvement upon both looks and conversation.

A little later in the evening, as Phoebe sat alone in her corner,
looking on, "I say!" came from behind her. Her heart fluttered, for the
voice was Molly's.

"I say!" repeated Molly. "You look here. I'm not all bad, you know. I
didn't want old Edmundson to have you. And I knew the way to keep him
from it was to tell him he must. I think 'tis a burning shame to treat
a maid like that. They were all set on it--the old woman, and Mum, and
everybody. He's an old block of firewood. Yo