The rector meekly stirred his coffee.
"I have no doubt of it," he answered. "But what do you think of Tom's chances, my dear?"
"They aren't worth a candle," returned his wife with an emphasis which settled the question in the rector's mind.
Within a month Tom's chances were the topic of Kingsborough. They were discussed at the post-office, at sewing societies, at church festivals. Not a soul in the congregation but knew the number of times he had accompanied her to evening services; not an inhabitant of the town but was aware of the hour and the afternoon upon which they had last walked through Lover's Lane.
When the state of affairs had gone the rounds of the community until they were worn threadbare, they effected a final lodgment in the mind of Mr. Burwell.
"I have made a little discovery," he announced one evening to his wife as she was brushing her hair for the night.
Mrs. Burwell was all delighted attention.
"Why, what can it be?" she murmured with gratifying feminine curiosity.
"You may have noticed, my dear," began Mr. Burwell with a nervous glance at Sally's chamber door across the hall, "that our friend Tom Bassett has called frequently of late."
His wife nodded smilingly.