ver herself of without
any appearance of feeling; and which no young man, however _blase_,
can hear with composure.

"Perhaps not," he said, with a little heat and a rising colour. "I am
glad you think me so sensible." And then there ensued a pause, upon
the issue of which depended the question of peace or war between these
two. Mr Wentworth's good angel, perhaps, dropped softly through the
dusky air at that moment, and jogged his perverse charge with the tip
of a celestial wing. "And yet there might be women in the world for
whom--" said the Curate; and stopped again. "I daresay you are not
anxious to know my sentiments on the subject," he continued, with a
little laugh. "I am sorry you think so badly--I mean so well of me."

"I don't think badly of you," said Mrs Morgan, hastily. "Thank you for
walking with me; and whatever happens, remember that I for one don't
believe a word of it," she said, holding out her hand. After this little
declaration of friendship, the Rector's wife returned to the Rectory,
where her husband was waiting for her, more than ever prepared to stand
up for Mr Wentworth. She went back to the drawing-room, forgetting all
about the carpet, and poured out the tea with satisfaction, and made
herself very agreeable to Mr Finial, the architect, who had come to talk
over the restorations. In that moment of stimulation she forgot all her
experience of her husband's puzzled looks, of the half-comprehension
with which he looked at her, and the depths of stubborn determination
which were far beyond the reach of her hastier and more generous spirit,
and so went on with more satisfaction and gaiety than she had felt
possible for a long time, beating her drums and blowing her trumpets, to
the encounter in which her female forces were so confident of victory.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Mr Wentworth went upon his way, after he had parted from Mrs Morgan,
with a moment's gratitude; but he had not gone half-a-dozen steps
before that amiable sentiment yielded to a sense of soreness and
vexation. He had almost acknowledged that he was conscious of the
slander against which he had made up his mind to present a blank front
of unconsciousness and passive resistance, and he was angry with
himself for his susceptibility to this unexpected voice of kindness.
He was going home, but he did not care for going home. Poor Mrs
Hadwin's anxious looks of suspicion had added to the distaste with
which he thought of encountering