John made a sarcastic bow.
“Now you compliment my good taste,” he said.
“Well, people call her handsome, and she may be good-looking; I suppose she is,” said Mrs. Layton, viciously, “but I have a very poor opinion of Margaret Churchill. If you believe it, I am told she is now once more endeavoring to entangle young Henderson of the Grange, in spite of the terrible scandal about him. I hear they invite him to the house, and that he buys horses of the old man, and that the new Mrs. Churchill is bent on the match.”
John Temple felt a strong wave of anger rise in his heart, but he prudently checked it before it reached his tongue.
“Well,” he said, rising from the table, “I will leave you two ladies for the present, if Mrs. Temple will excuse me? I have some letters to write, and afterward I think I shall go out; it is too fine a day to spend indoors.”
“Of course, please yourself,” answered Mrs. Temple, carelessly. She did not like John leaving her thus, to be bored by her mother’s company, but she stood on small ceremony.
“I am tired; I will lie down and read in my own room for an hour or two, I think,” she said. “Good-day, mother.”
She just extended the tips of her slender fingers to Mrs. Layton as she spoke, and then rose languidly and left the room.
The squire was thus left alone with the vicar and his mother-in-law. But he also was tired of both. He retired into an easy chair, and put his handkerchief over his face to announce that he wanted a little rest.
“Ah, I see you want a little doze, squire,” cried Mrs. Layton, observing this. “Well, James,” she continued, addressing her husband, “I will just take another glass of port and then we must be off. It’s well for those who can afford to take rest, but a poor parson and his wife can not.”