“I have heard of gay deceivers,” gasped Miss Barlow, who was at the least as old as Cattledon, and sat in the churchwarden’s pew at church, “but I never did hear of deceit such as this. And for a clergyman to be guilty of it!”
“I’m glad I sent him a doll,” giggled Daisy Dutton. “I dare say it is a doll he has gone and married.”
This was said in the porch, after morning prayers. Whilst they were all at it, talking as fast as they could talk, Emma Topcroft chanced to pass. They pounced upon her forthwith.
“Married! Oh yes, of course he is married; and they are coming home on Saturday,” said Emma, in response.
“Is she a doll?” cried Daisy.
“She is the nicest girl you ever saw,” returned Emma; “though of course not much of a girl now; and they have waited for one another fourteen years.”
Fourteen years! Thoughts went back, in mortification, to slippers and cushions. Mrs. Jonas cast regrets to her ginger-cordial.
“Of course he has a right to be engaged—and to have slyly kept it to himself, making believe he was a free man: but to go off surreptitiously to his wedding without a word to any one!—I don’t know what he may call it,” panted Mrs. Herriker, in virtuous indignation, “I call it conduct unbefitting a gentleman. He could have done no less had he been going to his hanging.”
“He would have liked to speak, I think, but could not get up courage for it; he is the shyest man possible,” cried Emma. “But he did not go off surreptitiously: some people knew of it. Miss Deveen knew—and Dr. Galliard knew—and we knew—and I feel nearly sure Mr. Chisholm knew, he simpered so the other day when he called for the books. I dare say Johnny Ludlow knew.”
All which was so much martyrdom to Jemima Cattledon, listening with a face of vinegar. Miss Deveen!—and Johnny Ludlow!—and those Topcrofts!—while she had been kept in the dark! She jerked up her skirts to cross the wet road, inwardly vowing never to put faith in surpliced man again.