"You," said the curate, waxing rhetorical as
he addressed an imaginary, but bloated, capitalist, "have no more
right to your money than I have. It is intrusted to you to be
shared with me." At this point I heard Lady Queenborough sniff
and Algy Stanton snigger. I stole a glance at Trix and detected
a slight waver in the admirable lines of her mouth.
"A very good sermon, didn't you think?" I said to her, as we
walked home.
"Oh, very!" she replied demurely.
"Ah, if we followed all we heard in church!" I sighed.
Miss Trix walked in silence for a few yards. By dint of never
becoming anything else, we had become very good friends; and
presently she remarked, quite confidentially:
"He's very silly, isn't he?"
"Then you ought to snub him," I said severely.
"So I do--sometimes. He's rather amusing, though."
"Of course, if you're prepared to make the sacrifice
involved----"
"Oh, what nonsense!"
"Then you've no business to amuse yourself with him."
"Dear, dear! how moral you are!" said Trix.
The next development in the situation was this: My cousin Dora
received a letter from the Marquis of Newhaven, with whom she was
acquainted, praying her to allow him to run down to Poltons for a
few days; he reminded her that she had once given him a general
invitation; if it would not be inconvenient--and so forth. The
meaning of this communication did not, of course, escape my
cousin, who had witnessed the writer's attentions to Trix in the
preceding season, nor did it escape the rest of us (who had
talked over the said attentions at the club) when she told us
about it, and announced that Lord Newhaven would arrive in the
middle of the next day.
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