"Who was he?"
She would not tell his name, but vowed he had splendid lustrous eyes, and a mustache an officer in the guards might envy.
Mr. Standish laughed, and seemed inclined to turn the conversation to another topic.
"You do not ask his name," she said; "yet this fascinating creature made me late, and with difficulty I tore myself from his spell."
"But you came," he replied, falling into her mood.
"My sense of duty. I am naturally punctual. I push it to a weakness."
"I wish to forget him," he said; "he has robbed me enough. What is the name of the country bumpkin?"
"Country bumpkin, indeed! He wears a coat the fit of which the most fashionable tailor might well envy the secret of its cut—a coat black and glossy, with just a touch of white at the throat."
"The rector. I knew it. Confess it is the rector," Mr. Standish said with finger uplifted.