"It's very kind of you to say so. I should like to ask one question, Miss Clibborn. Have you any objection to me personally?"
"Oh, no!" cried Mary. "How can you suggest such a thing? I have the highest respect and esteem for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget the great compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as the best friend I have."
"Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate, despondently.
Mary stretched out her hand. "I will be a sister to you."
"Oh, Miss Clibborn, how sad it is to think that your affections should be unrequited. Why am I not Captain Parsons? Miss Clibborn, can you give me no hope?"
"I should not be acting rightly towards you if I did not tell you at once that so long as Captain Parsons lives, my love for him can never alter."
"I wish I were a soldier!" murmured Mr. Dryland.
"Oh, it's not that. I think there's nothing so noble as a clergyman. If it is any consolation to you, I may confess that if I had never known Captain Parsons, things might have gone differently."
"Well, I suppose I had better go away now. I must try to bear my disappointment."
Mary gave him her hand, and, bending down with the utmost gallantry, the curate kissed it; then, taking up his low, clerical hat, hurriedly left her.