Franceline laughed merrily at this conceit; her fears were, if not banished by his cordial manner, sufficiently allayed to rid her of her momentary awkwardness. They were soon chatting away about village gossip as if nothing were amiss with either.
“Angélique brought home news from the market a few days ago that Mr. Tobes was going to marry Miss Bulpit; is it true?” inquired the young girl.
“Far too good to be true!” said the vicar, shaking his head. “The report has been spread so often that this time I very nearly believed in it. However, I saw Miss Bulpit, and she dispelled the illusion at once, and, I fear, for ever.”
“But would it have been such a good thing if they got married?”
“It would be a very desirable event in some ways,” said Mr. Langrove, with a peculiar smile; “it would give her something to do and some one to look after her.”
“And it would have been a good thing for Mr. Tobes, too, would it not? He is so poor!”
“That’s just why she won’t have him, poor fellow! When he proposed—she told me the story herself, and I find she is telling it right and left, so there is no breach of confidence in repeating it—when he proposed, Miss Bulpit asked him point-blank how much money he had; ‘because,’ she said, ‘I have only just enough for one!’”
“Oh! but that was a shame. She has plenty for two; and, besides, it was unfeeling. Don’t you think it was?” inquired Franceline, looking up at the vicar. But he evidently did not share either her indignation against Miss Bulpit or her pity for the discarded lover. He was laughing quietly, as if he enjoyed the joke.
They reached the gate going out on the high-road while thus pleasantly chatting.
“Now I suppose we must say good-by,” said Mr. Langrove. “This is my way; I am going to pay a sick visit down in the valley.”