"The fact was fairly generally known in the village," replied James, trying to restrain a smile.
Mr. Dryland blushed.
"I was annoyed at the publicity which the circumstance obtained. The worst of these little places is that people will talk."
"It was a very noble deed," said James gravely, repeating the common opinion.
"Not at all," answered the curate, with characteristic modesty. "But since it was not to be, since Miss Clibborn's choice has fallen on you, I think it my duty to inform you of my hearty goodwill. I wish, in short, to offer you again my sincerest congratulations."
"I'm sure that's very kind of you."
Two days, later Mrs. Jackson called on a similar errand.
She tripped up to James and frankly held out her hand, neatly encased as ever in a shining black kid glove.
"Captain Parsons, let us shake hands, and let bygones be bygones. You have taken my advice, and if, in the heat of the moment, we both said things which we regret, after all, we're only human."
"Surely, Mrs. Jackson, I was moderation itself?—even when you told me I should infallibly go to Hell."