'Colonel Clibborn threatens to horsewhip him.'
'It would do him good,' cried Mrs. Jackson; 'and I should like to be there to see it!'
They paused a moment to gloat over the imaginary scene of Jamie's chastisement.
'He's a wicked man. Fancy throwing the poor girl over when she's waited five years. I think he ought to be made to marry her.'
'I'm bound to say that no gentleman would have acted like that,' said the Vicar.
'I wanted Archibald to go and speak seriously to Captain Parsons. He ought to know what we think of him, and it's obviously our duty to tell him.'
'His parents are very much distressed. One can see that, although they say so little.'
'It's not enough to be distressed. They ought to have the strength of mind to insist upon his marrying Mary Clibborn. But they stick up for everything he does. They think he's perfect. I'm sure it's not respectful to God to worship a human being as they do their son.'
'They certainly have a very exaggerated opinion of him,' assented Mr. Dryland.
'And I should like to know why. He's not good-looking.'
'Very ordinary,' agreed Mr. Dryland, with a rapid glance at the convenient mirror. 'I don't think his appearance is manly.'
Whatever the curate's defects of person--and he flattered himself that he was modest enough to know his bad points--no one, he fancied, could deny him manliness. It is possible that he was not deceived. Put him in a bowler- hat and a bell-bottomed coat, and few could have distinguished him from a cab-driver.
'I don't see anything particular in his eyes or hair,' pursued Mrs. Jackson.
'His features are fairly regular. But that always strikes me as insipid in a man.'
'And he's not a good conversationalist.'
'I'm bound to confess I've never heard him say anything clever,' remarked the Vicar.
'No,' smiled the curate; 'one could hardly call him a brilliant epigrammatist.'
'I don't think he's well informed.'
'Oh, well, you know, one doesn't expect knowledge from army men,' said the curate, with a contemptuous smile and a shrug of the shoulders. 'I must say I was rather amused when he confessed he hadn't read Marie Corelli.'
'I can hardly believe that. I think it was only pose.'
'I'm sorry to say that my experience of young officers is that there are absolutely no bounds to their ignorance.'
They had satisfactorily stripped James of every quality, mental and physical, which could have made him attractive in Mary's eyes; and the curate's next remark was quite natural.
'I'm afraid it sounds a conceited thing to say, but I can't help asking myself what Miss Clibborn saw in him.'
'Love is blind,' replied Mrs. Jackson. 'She could have done much better for herself.'
They paused to consider the vagaries of the tender passion, and the matches which Mary might have made, had she been so inclined.
'Archibald,' said Mrs. Jackson at last, with the decision characteristic of her, 'I've made up my mind. As vicar of the parish,
'I, my dear?'
'Yes, Archibald. You must insist upon him fulfilling his engagement with Mary. Say that you are shocked and grieved; and ask him if his own conscience does not tell him that he has done wrong.'
'I'm not sure that he'd listen to reason,' nervously remarked the Vicar.
'It's your duty to try, Archibald. We're so afraid of being called busybodies that even when we ought to step in we hesitate. No motives of delicacy should stop one when a wicked action is to be prevented. It's often the clergy's duty to interfere with other people's affairs. For my part, I will never shrink from doing my duty. People may call me a busybody if they like; hard words break no bones.'
'Captain Parsons is very reserved. He might think it an impertinence if I went to him.'
'How could he? Isn't it our business if he breaks his word with a parishioner of ours? If you don't talk to him, I shall. So there, Archibald!'
'Why don't you, Mrs. Jackson?'
'Nothing would please me better, I should thoroughly enjoy giving him a piece of my mind. It would do him good to be told frankly that he's not quite so great as he thinks himself. I will never shrink from doing my duty.'
'My dear,' remonstrated the Vicar, 'if you really think I ought to speak--'
'Perhaps Mrs. Jackson would do better. A women can say many things that a man can't.'
This was a grateful suggestion to the Vicar, who could not rid himself of the discomforting thought that James, incensed and hot-tempered, might use the strength of his arms--or legs--in lieu of argument. Mr. Jackson would have affronted horrid tortures for his faith, but shrank timidly before the least suspicion of ridicule. His wife was braver, or less imaginative.
'Very well, I'll go,' she said. 'It's true he might be rude to Archibald, and he couldn't be rude to a lady. And
