onger met his accuser with reciprocal disdain.

"My dear aunt," said Frank Wentworth, "I wish you would not go back to
that. I suppose we parsons are apt sometimes to exaggerate trifles
into importance, as my father says. But, however, as things have
turned out, I could not have left Carlingford," the Curate added, in a
tone of conciliation; "and now, when good fortune has come to me
unsought--"

Miss Leonora finished her portion of chicken in one energetic gulp,
and got up from the table. "Poetic justice!" she said, with a furious
sneer. "I don't believe in that kind of rubbish. As long as you were
getting on quietly with your work I felt disposed to be rather proud
of you, Frank. But I don't approve of a man ending off neatly like a
novel in this sort of ridiculous way. When you succeed to the Rectory
I suppose you will begin fighting, like the other man, with the new
curate, for working in your parish?"

"When I succeed to the Rectory," said Mr Wentworth, getting up in his
turn from the table, "I give you my word, aunt Leonora, no man shall
work in _my_ parish unless I set him to do it. Now I must be off to my
work. I don't suppose Carlingford Rectory will be the end of me," the
Perpetual Curate added, as he went away, with a smile which his aunts
could not interpret. As for Miss Leonora, she tied her bonnet-strings
very tight, and went off to the afternoon service at Salem Chapel by
way of expressing her sentiments more forcibly. "I daresay he's bold
enough to take a bishopric," she said to herself; "but fortunately
we've got _that_ in our own hands as long as Lord Shaftesbury lives;"
and Miss Leonora smiled grimly over the prerogatives of her party. But
though she went to the Salem Chapel that afternoon, and consoled herself
that she could secure the bench of bishops from any audacious invasion
of Frank Wentworth's hopes, it is true, notwithstanding, that Miss
Leonora sent her maid next morning to London with certain obsolete
ornaments, of which, though the fashion was hideous, the jewels were
precious; and Lucy Wodehouse had never seen anything so brilliant as
the appearance they presented when they returned shortly after
reposing upon beds of white satin in cases of velvet--"Ridiculous
things," as Miss Leonora informed her, "for a parson's wife."

It was some time after this--for, not to speak of ecclesiastical
matters, a removal, even when the furniture is left behind and there
are only books, and rare ferns