"O no; I am sure it is meant kindly. Father, he is one of the Curates of our Church. Don't the Clergy always call?" asked Dorothea. "And I think it must be the same who helped to lift up Mrs. Effingham. I should not know his face again, because I am so blind without my glasses; but he had a nice voice, and I really think you would like him."
The Colonel grunted. He had a particular aversion to Curates.
"Mrs. Effingham lives in Willingdon Square, I see. Then, she can't be very far off, can she? Father, shall I call on Mrs. Effingham alone, or will you come with me?"
"I!" uttered the Colonel, as if she had suggested a leap from the iron gallery of St. Paul's.
"Don't you ever pay calls? I thought gentlemen did sometimes. Then may I go alone? It can't be far off."
"Alone! No, certainly not!" Colonel Tracy spoke with sharpness. "Church was to be the outside limit, remember! I can't have you wandering about London."
"Only if it is near—"
"My dear, I won't have it," declared the Colonel irately.
"I ought to return her call."
"There is no 'ought' in the matter. No necessity whatever. You did her a service, and she has called to express her gratitude. That is all. The matter need go no farther. I shall leave my card—perhaps—some day at Mr. Claughton's; not at present. His coming at all was unnecessary."