“And after all,” added Rachel, “we have no notion whether this poor man be not precisely of your own opinions, and from their fruits I am sure you ought to claim them.”
“Their blossoms if you please,” laughed Ermine. “We have not seen their fruits yet.”
“And I shall take care the fruits are not nipped with the blight of suspicion,” said Rachel, good-humouredly.
However, after driving Ermine home, and seeing her lifted out and carried into the house by her sister, Rachel did send the carriage back by the groom and betake herself to Villars’s shop, where she asked for a sight of the “Clergy List.” The name of Mauleverer caught her eye, but only one instance of it appeared, and he was a cathedral canon, his presentation dated in 1832, the time at which, judging from appearances, the object of her search might have been born; besides, he rejoiced in the simple name of Thomas. But Rachel’s search was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the issue of Mr. Mauleverer himself from the reading-room within the shop. He bowed and passed by, but Rachel for the life of her could not hinder a burning colour from spreading to the very tips of her ears; so certain did she feel that she was insulting him by her researches, and that he perceived them. She felt absolutely ashamed to see him the next day, and even in her dreams was revolving speeches that might prove that though cautious and clear-sighted, she was neither suspicious nor narrow-minded.
He came when some morning visitors were at the Homestead, prosy neighbours whose calls were always a penance to Rachel, and the butler, either from the manner of the inquiry or not regarding him as drawing-room company, put him into the dining-room and announced, “Mr. Mauleverer to see Miss Rachel.” Up jumped Miss Rachel, with “You’ll excuse me, it is on business;” and went off highly satisfied that “the mother” was hindered by politeness from making any attempt at chaperonage either personally or through Grace, so unnecessary at her age, for since Colonel Keith’s departure, Rachel’s age had begun to grow on her again. She held out her hand as if to atone for her search, but she found at once that it had been remarked.
“You were doing me the honour to look for my name in the ‘Clergy List,’ Miss Curtis,” he said.
“Yes, one is apt—,” faltered Rachel, decidedly out of countenance.
“I quite appreciate the motive. It is exactly in accord with Miss Curtis’s prudence and good sense. I should wish to be fully explicit before any arrangements are made. I am unhappily not in orders, Miss Curtis. I know your liberality will regard the cause with leniency.”
“Indeed,” said Rachel, sufficiently restored to recall one of her premeditated reassurances. “I can fully appreciate any reluctance to become stringently bound to dogmatic enunciations, before the full powers of the intellect have examined into them.”
“You have expressed it exactly, Miss Curtis. Without denying an iota of them, I may be allowed to regret that our formularies are too technical for a thoughtful mind in the present age.”