The rector’s stare turned into a look of frank amazement, even bewilderment. “My—I beg your pardon; I’m afraid I don’t quite understand!”
“I’ve come to call on your wife and daughters,” repeated the little girl. “I’m Miss Virginia Witherspoon Torrington,” she declared convincingly, “and I live next door to you—over there, in the big house.”
“Oh, yes, I see,” replied the rector. He was as punctiliously polite as the occasion demanded, but his mouth twitched just a little. “I’m sure I beg your pardon. I must be very stupid. But I regret to say that I have no wife or daughters.”
“Are you sure you haven’t” asked Miss Torrington.
“I’m afraid I am,” said the rector, humbly and apologetically. “Won’t you come in and call on me instead?”
Miss Torrington pondered for a moment. “I think a gentleman ought to pay the first call on a lady, don’t you?”
The rector bit his lip, but the child went on: “Maggie O’Brien certainly told me there were three ladies in the family here!”
“Oh!” exclaimed the young rector, as if he had found something. “Why, of course, there are! I didn’t think of that! There are three ladies, and it’s very good of you to call on them. They’ll be delighted. You see, it was your speaking of my wife and daughters that made me forget.”
“What are they, then?” asked the child.