nd walked
into the house as if it really belonged to him two or three times a
week.

The first person that he encountered on this occasion was Frances, who
had waylaid Guthrie Carey on his departure, and whom he had left
standing under the back porch, aglow with excitement. She was a picture
in her pale blue frock--put on for his eyes--and with her mane of
burnished gold falling about her sparkling blush-rose face; but the
parson, accustomed to regard her as a child, was unaffected by the
sight.

"Surely," he exclaimed, with agitation, "that was young Mr Carey that I
passed at the gate just now? He had his hat pulled over his eyes, and
did not stop to speak to me; but the figure--" "Was his," said Frances,
bursting to be the first to say it. "Very much in the flesh still,
isn't he? And oh, to think he's gone like this, just as we'd got him
back--SO big and handsome, and such a DEAR brother-in-law as he would
have made!"

She stamped her foot. "What do you think, Mr Goldsworthy?--he came for
her today, just as he promised, and then she turned round and wouldn't
have him! We thought he'd jilted her, and instead of that she's jilted
him. Oh, I could smack her! To have such a chance--SHE!--and after all
the fuss she made about him--and throw it away! But I think he'll come
back before his ship sails--he said he would--and perhaps she'll be
less of an idiot by then; she'd better, unless she wants to die an old
maid. Oh, if it was ME--!"

Mr Goldsworthy penetrated to the morning-room, where something of the
same tale was repeated to him. Yes, Guthrie Carey was alive and well,
and had been up to see them. Yes, he had asked for Mary--now that he
was a captain--but she had finally decided against marrying a sailor.
Wisely, perhaps; at any rate, it was her business; the family did not
wish to discuss the matter.

When Mr Goldsworthy found that Mary did not come to dinner, he drew
some conclusions for himself. He told himself there was something
"fishy" in the affair--something behind, that was purposely kept from
him. But he was hungry, and the fragrant soup steamed under his nose
and glittered in his spoon--it was so admirably clear. Just now the
doings of the Redford cook were of more concern to him than Mary's
doings.

But although he enjoyed the meal to which he had looked forward all
day, he enjoyed it much less than usual. A more sensitive person in his
place must have found it wretched. Deb was a chilling hostess.