"Hey,—what? Mr. Claughton! How do?" Colonel Tracy put out his hand, and, like Mrs. Effingham on a similar occasion, half drew it back. "Why—"
"Our Mr. Claughton's brother," explained Dorothea, and the two gentlemen bowed, Mervyn cordially, the Colonel stiffly.
"Hot day," the Colonel remarked. "Time we should get home."
"Perhaps you will allow me to call upon you some day, when I happen to be in town?" Mervyn said as the Colonel stood up resolutely.
The question was addressed to them both.
"O do!" Dorothea replied frankly, without a blush. She was longing to hear more about "Dolly."
Colonel Tracy growled out some sort of consent, and hurried his daughter away. Mervyn made no attempt to accompany them.
"My dear, you must be careful. Who is that young fellow?" demanded Colonel Tracy, when they were at a safe distance.
"Mervyn Claughton, father,—the brother of our Curate."
"Hum!—Ha!—Well, mind you're careful, my dear."