while they were wanting in one as truly the Christian gentleman in spirit and in education.
Mr. Prendergast bowed to Miss Charlecote, and shook hands with his guest, welcoming him kindly; but the two shy men grew more bashful by contact, and Honor found herself, Owen, and Lucilla sustaining the chief of the conversation, the curate apparently looking to the young lady to protect him and do the honours, as she did by making him pull down a cluster of his roses for her companions, and conducting them to eat his strawberries, which she treated as her own, flitting, butterfly like, over the beds, selecting the largest and ruddiest specimens, while her slave plodded diligently to fill cabbage leaves, and present them to the party in due gradation.
Owen stood by amused, and silencing the scruples of his companions.
‘He is in Elysium,’ he said; ‘he had rather be plagued by Cilly than receive a mitre! Don’t hinder him, Honey; it is his pride to treat us as if we were at home and he our guest.’
‘Wrapworth has not been seen without Edna Murrell,’ said Lucilla, flinging the stem of her last strawberry at her brother, ‘and Miss Charlecote is a woman of schools. What, aren’t we to go, Mr. Prendergast?’
‘I beg your pardon. I did not know.’
‘Well; what is it?’
‘I do sometimes wish Miss Murrell were not such an attraction.’
‘You did not think that of yourself.’
‘Well, I don’t know; Miss Murrell is a very nice young woman,’ he hesitated, as Cilly seemed about to thrust him through with her reed; ‘but couldn’t you, Cilla, now, give her a hint that it would be better if she would associate more with Mrs. Jenkyns, and—’