"In the afternoon! Why should you be in so much hurry, Rachel? It took him four or five days to write to you."
"Yes; but he was down in Northamptonshire on business. Besides he hadn't any letter from me to answer. I shouldn't like him to think—"
"To think what, Rachel?"
"That I had forgotten him."
"Psha!"
"Or that I didn't treat his letter with respect."
"He won't think that. But I must turn it over in my mind; and I believe I ought to ask somebody."
"Not Dolly," said Rachel, eagerly.
"No, not your sister. I will not ask her. But if you don't mind, my dear, I'll take the young man's letter out to Mr. Comfort, and consult him. I never felt myself so much in need of somebody to advise me. Mr. Comfort is an old man, and you won't mind his seeing the letter."
Rachel did mind it very much, but she had no means of saving herself from her fate. She did not like the idea of having her love-letter submitted to the clergyman of the parish. I do not know any young lady who would have liked it. But bad as that was, it was preferable to having the letter submitted to Mrs. Prime. And then she remembered that Mr. Comfort had advised that she might go to the ball, and that he was father to her friend Mrs. Butler Cornbury.