“Of what?”
The tone of the two words shook Mr. Sutton unpleasantly. He reddened. But with an effort,
“In what hope?” he answered, embarrassed by the sudden rigidity of her face. “In the hope,” with a feeble smile, “that in no long time—I am presumptuous, I know—you will see some merit in me, my dear young lady. And will assent to my wishes, my humble, ardent wishes, and those of my too-generous patron.”
There were no tears in her eyes now. She seemed to tower above him in her indignation.
“Your wishes, you miserable little man?” she cried, with a look which pierced his vanity to the quick. “They are nothing to me! Go back to your master!”
And before he could rally his forces or speak, she was gone from him into the house. He heard a snigger behind the hedge, but by the time he had climbed the bank—with a crimson face—there was no one to be seen.
He stood an instant, brooding, with his eyes on the road.
“A common man would give up,” he muttered. “But I shall not! I am no common man. I shall not give up.”
CHAPTER XII
THE OLD LOVE
Mr. Sutton was a vain man and sensitive, and though he clung to hope, Henrietta’s words hurt him to the quick. The name of Chaplain was growing obsolete at this time; it was beginning to import unpleasant things. With this chaplain in particular his dependence on a patron was a sore point; for with some capacity, he lacked, and knew that he lacked, that strength of mind which enables a man to hold his own, be his position what it may. For an hour, writhing under the reflection that even the yokels about him were aware of his discomfiture, he was cast down to the very ground. He was inclined to withdraw his hand and let the dazzling vision pass.