“Fine morning, miss. Two letters—three letters—four letters. ‘Stan’ard,’ ‘Gar’ner’s Chronkle,’ ‘Beekeep’s Junnel;’ that’s all, miss;” and before the little lady had had time to speak, the heavy step was receding over the gravel. “Four letters for you, Arthur. Shall I open them?”
“Please, my dear Mary,” said the Reverend Arthur, without evincing the slightest interest in the arrival of the post, for he was carefully filling up the holes in some well-made dry toast with the freshest of fresh butter.
Miss Mary Rosebury laid the letters upon the table while she fished a spectacle-case from her pocket, balanced her glasses upon her rather decided-looking nose, gave the two little bunches of curls on either side of her white forehead a shake, and opened the first letter, reading aloud:
“‘Messrs Spindle and Twist beg to call your attention to a very curious sherry, and’—um—um—um—um—Ah! you don’t want to lay down sherry, do you, Arthur?”
“No, my dear Mary,” said her brother; and letter number two was opened.
“‘Mr Hazelton is now prepared to make advances upon personal security to the clergy, gentry—’ Bah! money-lenders!” exclaimed Miss Mary Rosebury, throwing aside the second letter. “I wish these people wouldn’t bore us with their applications. What’s this?”
As she spoke she took up a large blue official-looking envelope.
“Looks important, my dear Mary,” said the Rev. Arthur, displaying a little more interest.
“Yes,” said his sister, turning the letter over. “Oh! Arthur, suppose it means preferment at last—a vicarage somewhere.”
“I don’t think I should be very much pleased, my dear Mary. I am very happy here.”