FRANK (ingenuously).—"You can't be more ashamed, Mother, than I was when they gave me the prize."
MRS. DALE (though previously provoked at being snubbed by Harry, now showing the triumph of generosity over temper).—"I beg your pardon, Frank. Your mother must be as proud of that shame as she was of the prize."
Mrs. Hazeldean puts her arm round Frank's neck, smiles beamingly on Mrs. Dale, and converses with her son in a low tone about Randal Leslie. Miss Jemima now approached Carry, and said in an "aside," "But we are forgetting poor Mr. Riccabocca. Mrs. Hazeldean, though the dearest creature in the world, has such a blunt way of inviting people—don't you think if you were to say a word to him, Carry?"
MRS. DALE (kindly, as she wraps her shawl round her).—" Suppose you write the note yourself? Meanwhile I shall see him, no doubt."
PARSON (putting his hand on the squire's shoulder).—"You forgive my impertinence, my kind friend. We parsons, you know, are apt to take strange liberties, when we honour and love folks as I do."
"Fish," said the squire; but his hearty smile came to his lips in spite of himself. "You always get your own way, and I suppose Frank must ride over and see this pet of my—"
"Brother's," quoth the parson, concluding the sentence in a tone which gave to the sweet word so sweet a sound that the squire would not correct the parson, as he had been about to correct himself.
Mr. Dale moved on; but as he passed Captain Barnabas, the benignant character of his countenance changed sadly. "The cruellest trump, Captain Higginbotham!" said he sternly, and stalked by-majestic.
The night was so fine that the parson and his wife, as they walked home, made a little detour through the shrubbery.
MRS. DALE.—"I think I have done a good piece of work to-night."