“Yes,” said Sir Gordon, dryly; “but I am not going now.”
They parted at the entrance of the town, and directly after the curate became aware of the fact that old Gemp was looking at him very intently.
He forgot it the next moment as he entered his room, to be followed directly after by his landlady, who drew his attention to a note upon the chimney-piece in Thickens’s formal, clerkly hand.
“One of the school children brought this, sir; and, begging your pardon,” cried the woman, colouring indignantly, “if it isn’t making too bold to ask such a thing of you, sir, don’t you think you might say a few words next Sunday about Poll-prying, and asking questions?”
“Really,” said Bayle, smiling; “I’m afraid it would be very much out of place, Mrs Pinet.”
“Well, I’m sorry you say so, sir, for the way that Gemp goes on gets to be beyond bearing. He actually stopped that child, took the letter from him, read the direction, and then asked the boy who it was from, and whether he was to wait for an answer.”
“Never mind, Mrs Pinet; it is very complimentary of Mr Gemp to take so much interest in my affairs.”
“It made me feel quite popped, sir,” cried the woman; “but of course it be no business of mine.”
Bayle read the letter, and changed colour, as he connected it with Sir Gordon’s questions, for it was a request that the curate would come up and see Thickens that evening on very particular business.