"If you don't admonish him, John, I must. It will be a thankless office, for the wretched man seems bent on his own destruction."
"Well, he has chosen a particularly pleasant form of suicide, Cecilia."
"Flippancy, Mr. Dodd, is not becoming in a clergyman," said his wife with a ruffled air, "and it is not good taste for a clergyman to openly express his admiration for his female parishioners to his wife, and so violate the sanctity of his own fireside."
"I'm not going to make or meddle in the matter, Mrs. Dodd," said her husband.
"'Tis a vicar's duty to protect his curate, Mr. Dodd."
"Not when the curate is perfectly well able to take care of himself, my dear. Besides, there is another point of view; Lucy might do worse."
"Well, John," she replied, "I shall say no more. I can only hope that it is not in a spirit of professional jealousy that you allow this poor thoughtless young fellow to rush to his doom." And then she rang for coffee.
Next day the Reverend Barnes Puffin lunched at The Warren. Being a feast day he did full justice to the meal. He was overflowing with good spirits, and as soon as lunch was over he seized the first opportunity of securing a tête-à-tête with the squire's niece. As Miss Warrender took the arm of the clergyman, she cast an amused and meaning glance at Haggard. Little by little the pair wandered away into the secluded rose garden, and the Reverend Barnes Puffin felt that he had got his chance.
"Do you care for parish work, Miss Warrender?" said the Celibate, after a few commonplace phrases.
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Puffin, I don't know; I have never tried."