ting to himself that he would make this call after their
dinner would be over, at the hour when Mr Wodehouse reposed in his
easy-chair, and the two sisters were generally to be found alone in
the drawing-room. Perhaps he might have an opportunity of intimating
the partial farewell he meant to take of them. When he got Miss
Leonora's note, the Curate's countenance clouded over. He said,
"Another night lost," with indignant candour. It was hard enough to
give up his worldly prospects, but he thought he had made up his mind
to that. However, refusal was impossible. It was still daylight when
he went up Grange Lane to the Blue Boar. He was early, and went
languidly along the well-known road. Nobody was about at that hour. In
those closed, embowered houses, people were preparing for dinner, the
great event of the day, and Mr Wentworth was aware of that. Perhaps he
had expected to see somebody--Mr Wodehouse going home, most likely, in
order that he might mention his own engagement, and account for his
failure in the chance evening call which had become so much a part of
his life. But no one appeared to bear his message. He went lingering
past the green door, and up the silent deserted road. At the end of
Grange Lane, just in the little unsettled transition interval which
interposed between its aristocratic calm and the bustle of George
Street, on the side next Prickett's Lane, was a quaint little shop,
into which Mr Wentworth strayed to occupy the time. This was
Elsworthy's, who, as is well known, was then clerk at St Roque's.
Elsworthy himself was in his shop that Easter Monday, and so was his
wife and little Rosa, who was a little beauty. Rosa and her aunt had
just returned from an excursion, and a prettier little apparition
could not be seen than that dimpled rosy creature, with her radiant
half-childish looks, her bright eyes, and soft curls of dark-brown
hair. Even Mr Wentworth gave a second glance at her as he dropped
languidly into a chair, and asked Elsworthy if there was any news. Mrs
Elsworthy, who had been telling the adventures of the holiday to her
goodman, gathered up her basket of eggs and her nosegay, and made the
clergyman a little curtsy as she hurried away; for the clerk's wife
was a highly respectable woman, and knew her own place. But Rosa, who
was only a kind of kitten, and had privileges, stayed. Mr Wentworth
was by far the most magnificent figure she had ever seen in her little
life. She looked at him w