“Oh, well,” said Temperance, “but”—looking at him shrewdly—“it don’t seem to me that you are over and above well yourself.”
Sidney laughed carelessly.
“Oh—I’m always well—except for the headaches, and Vashti cures them.”
“Yes, I’ll be bound she does,” said Temperance irascibly. “You ain’t got a mite of sense neither one of you; them passes and performances ain’t good for you. I don’t believe in ’em, and for a minister! Sakes! they say you are an angel in the village; take care you don’t get to be one.”
“Then you have your doubts about my being angelic?” said Sidney laughing.
Temperance coloured, but did not give way.
“Men’s men,” she said; “only some of them are better nor others,” then she paused and grew grave and troubled again.
“You’ve something worrying you,” said Sidney kindly; “what is it?”
“Well,” said Temperance, “I don’t know if I’m over anxious or not, but—have you heard anything about Lanty lately?”
“Yes, I did,” admitted Sidney, “and I was terribly sorry to hear it. Do you suppose it can be true?”