“My dear Rector, I assure you I have seen Austin”—And then Mrs. Dengelton began a long, rambling story, which had no beginning and certainly did not appear to have an end, for she droned on until the poor Rector was quite weary, and was much put to to conceal his yawns.
Meanwhile, Maurice, remembering what the Rector had told him about the young couple, looked keenly at the poet and then at his cousin, at which inspection they naturally felt somewhat embarrassed.
“Yes?” said Eunice at length, in an interrogative fashion.
“Oh, nothing, nothing!” he responded hastily; “I was only wondering what you were talking about.”
“We were not talking at all,” said Crispin, running his fingers over the keys; “on the contrary, we were listening to Mrs. Dengelton.”
Maurice smiled absently, and tugged moodily at his mustache.
“You have a charming place here, Roylands,” remarked Crispin, more for the sake of saying something than for the importance of the remark; “I would like to settle down in this quiet village.”
“You!” said Maurice in astonishment; “the bird of passage who is never off the wing! Why, you would die of ennui in a week.”
“Ah, that depends on the company,” answered Crispin, stealing a glance at Eunice, who sat silently playing with her fan.
“I am afraid I am not very lively company,” observed Maurice, with a sigh, not noticing the glance; “there is so little to talk about nowadays.”