“I do; it is a matter of instinct. Well, here is your Helena; I hope you will find the original as beautiful as the picture.”
“I hope so too,” answered Maurice, restoring the photograph to his pocket.
“By the way,” observed the Rector abruptly, “what about Eunice?”
“Oh, she will not mourn me, for she has already consoled herself with Crispin.”
“Humph! I thought as much; and what does your aunt say?”
“She says nothing because she knows nothing.”
“Do you think that is wise?”
“No, I do not; so I am going to ask Crispin to explain who he is, what he is, and all about himself, before he leaves with me for the East. If his replies are satisfactory, I will try and persuade my dear aunt to consent to the match; but you may depend upon it, my dear Rector, if I find anything wrong with our poet, I will do my best to prevent his marriage with my cousin.”
“That is as it should be, but I fancy you will find Crispin an honest man.”
“You seem quite taken with him.”