“She ought not,” replied a young lady who did not much approve of so handsome an heiress remaining at Cheltenham. “It will be very incorrect if she does; some one ought to tell her so.”
With the exception of Mr Potts, no one had dared to break in upon the solitude of Mr Rainscourt, who had remained the whole day upon the sofa, with the urn on the table before him, and the shutters closed to exclude the light. The worthy curate called upon him every evening, renewing his topics of consolation, and pointing out the duty of Christian resignation. A deep sigh! a heavy Ah! or a long drawn Oh! were all the variety of answers that could be obtained for some days. But time does wonders; and Mr Rainscourt at last inclined an ear to the news of the day, and listened with marked attention to the answers which he elicited from the curate, by his indirect questions, as to what the world said about him.
“Come, come, Mr Rainscourt, do not indulge your grief any more. Excess becomes criminal. It is my duty to tell you so, and yours to attend to me. It is not to be expected that you will immediately return to the world and its amusements; but as there must be a beginning, why not come and take your family dinner to-day with Mrs Potts and me? Now let me persuade you—she will be delighted to see you—we dine at five. A hot joint—nothing more.”
Rainscourt, who was rather tired of solitude, refused in such a way as to induce the worthy curate to reiterate his invitation, and at length, with great apparent unwillingness, consented. The curate sat with him until the dinner hour, when, leaning on the pastor’s arm, Rainscourt walked down the street, in all the trappings of his woe, and his eyes never once raised from the ground.
“There’s Mr Rainscourt! There’s Mr Rainscourt!” whispered some of the promenaders who were coming up the street.
“No! that’s not him.”
“Yes it is, walking with Mr Potts! Don’t you see his beautiful large dog following him? He never walks without it. An’t it a beauty? It’s a Polygar dog from the East Indies. His name is Tippoo.”
The house of the curate was but a short distance from the lodgings occupied by Mr Rainscourt. They soon entered, and were hid from the prying eyes of the idle and the curious.
“I have persuaded Mr Rainscourt to come and take a family dinner with us, my dear.”
“Quite delighted to see him,” replied Mrs Potts, casting a sidelong angry glance at her husband.