"Everything about her was so characteristic," answered the Curate, admiringly.
Neither the Curate nor the Stockbroker had the advantage of hearing what the dear Old Lady said to Tom that afternoon.
"It came off just beautifully, my boy. Not that I blame them, mind you,—how were they to know that it was a ticket which I didn't give up last year, and that I hadn't even taken a ticket at all to-day? No, I don't blame them. As for the address, I put the same address that was on the label of the Curate's bag, only I altered The Rev. CHARLES MARLINGHURST to Mrs. MARLINGHURST. And the Stockbroker guaranteed that I should send either the ticket or the money. So he'll have to pay up! Oh, my word! My gracious word, what a treat!"
The dear Old Lady chuckled contentedly.
Tom also chuckled.
The Stockbroker subsequently relinquished to a great extent his habit of remarking upon his own marvellous intuition, enabling him to read character at sight; the Curate preached a capital sermon on the deceptiveness of man, and when he said man he meant woman.
TO A TOO-ENGAGING MAIDEN.
I think you should know I've been put out of humour