“Everything. I’m troubled about the church matters. The squire is rector’s churchwarden, and somehow we don’t get on.”
“That’s a wonder,” said the doctor drily.
“Then, I’m in trouble with the rector.”
“Why, what’s he got to say for himself? He’s nearly always in London, so as to be within reach of his club. It isn’t time for him to come down and give us another of his sermons, is it?”
“No. It isn’t about that.”
“What then?”
“Oh! nothing.”
“Come, out with it!”
The curate glanced at Mary, who shook her head slightly, but he went on.
“The fact is, old fellow, May takes upon himself to write me most unpleasant, insolent letters. He learns from some mischief-making body that Leo hunts, and I never hear the last of it.”