‘Did you ever know me have any?’
‘Ah well! you don’t like the word; but at any rate she thinks you behaved with great spirit and discretion under the circumstances, and quite overlooks any little imprudence. She hopes to see you the day after to-morrow, and will write and tell you so.’
Perhaps no intentional slander ever gave the object greater annoyance than Cilly experienced on learning that the good curate had, in the innocence of his heart, represented her as in a state of proper feeling, and interceded for her; and it was all the worse because it was impossible to her to damp his kind satisfaction, otherwise than by a brief ‘Thank you,’ the tone of which he did not comprehend.
‘Was she alone?’ she asked.
‘Didn’t I tell you the young lady was with her, and the brother?’
‘Robert Fulmort!’ and Cilla’s heart sank at finding that it could not have been he who had been with Owen.
‘Ay, the young fellow that slept at my house. He has taken a curacy at St. Wulstan’s.’
‘Did he tell you so?’ with an ill-concealed start of consternation.
‘Not he; lads have strange manners. I should have thought after the terms we were upon here, he need not have been quite so much absorbed in his book as never to speak!’
‘He has plenty in him instead of manners,’ said Lucilla; ‘but I’ll take him in hand for it.’