The Perpetual Curate

man. “You know what I mean,” he said, in his peremptory way; “and, my dear, you will forgive me for saying this is not a matter to be discussed before a lady.” When he had uttered this bold speech, the Rector took a few little walks up and down the room, not caring, however, to look at his wife. He was ashamed of the feeling he had that her absence would set him much more at ease with Elsworthy, but still could not help being conscious that it was so. He did not say anything more, but he walked up and down the room with sharp short steps, and betrayed his impatience very manifestly. As for Mrs. Morgan, who was a sensible woman, she saw that the time had come for her to retire from the field.

“I think the first thing to be done is to try every possible means of finding the girl,” she said, getting up from her seat; “but I have no doubt what you decide upon will be the best. You will find me in the drawing-room when you want me, William.” Perhaps her absence for the first moment was not such a relief to her husband as he had expected. The mildness of her parting words made it very apparent that she did not mean to take offence; and he perceived suddenly, at a glance, that he would have to tell her all he was going to do, and encounter her criticism single-handed, which was rather an appalling prospect to the Rector. Mrs. Morgan, for her part, went upstairs not without a little vexation, certainly, but with a comforting sense of the opportunity which awaited her. She felt that, in his unprotected position, as soon as she left him, the Rector would conduct himself rashly, and that her time was still to come.

The Rector went back to the hearthrug when his wife left the room, but in the heat of his own personal reflections he did not say anything to Elsworthy, who still stood smoothing his hat in his hand. On the whole, Mr. Morgan was rather aggravated for the moment by the unlucky cause of this little encounter, and was not half so well disposed towards Mr. Wentworth’s enemy as half an hour before, when he recognised his wife as the champion of the Curate, and felt controlled by her presence; for the human and even the clerical mind has its impulses of perversity. He began to get very impatient of Elsworthy’s hat, and the persistent way in which he worked at it with his hands.

“I suppose you would not be so certain about it if you had not satisfactory evidence?” he said, turning abruptly, and even a little angrily, upon the supplicant; for Mr. Morgan naturally resented his own temper and the little semi-quarrel he had got into upon the third person who was the cause of all.

“Sir,” said Elsworthy, with eagerness, “it aint no wonder to me as the lady takes Mr. Wentworth’s part. A poor man don’t stand no chance against a young gentleman as has had every advantage. It’s a thing as I’m prepared for, and it don’t have no effect upon me. A lady as is so respected and thought a deal of both in town and country⁠—”

“I was not speaking of my wife,” said the Rector, hastily, “don’t you think you had better put down your hat? I think you said it was on Friday it occurred. It will be necessary to take down the facts in a businesslike way,” said Mr. Morgan, drawing his chair towards the table and taking up his pen. This was how the Rector was occupied when Thomas announced the most unexpected of all possible visitors, Mr. Proctor, who had been Mr. Morgan’s predecessor in Carlingford. Thomas announced his old master with great solemnity as “the late Rector”⁠—a title which struck the present incumbent with a sense of awe not unnatural in the circumstances. He jumped up from his chair and let his pen fall out of his startled fingers when his old friend came in. They had eaten many a good dinner together in the revered hall of All Souls, and as the familiar countenance met his eyes, perhaps a regretful thought of that Elysium stole across the mind of the late Fellow, who had been so glad to leave the sacred brotherhood, and marry, and become as other men. He gave but a few hurried words of surprise and welcome to his visitor, and then, with a curious counterpoise of sentiment, sent him upstairs to see “my wife,” feeling, even while half envious of him, a kind of superiority and half contempt for the man who was not a Rector and married, but had given up both these possibilities. When he sent him upstairs to see “my wife,” Mr. Morgan looked after the elderly celibate with a certain pity. One always feels more inclined to take the simple view of any matter⁠—to stand up for injured innocence, and to right the wronged⁠—when one feels one’s self better off than one’s neighbours. A reverse position is apt to detract from the simplicity of one’s conceptions, and to suggest two sides to the picture. When Mr. Proctor was gone, the Rector addressed himself with great devotion to Elsworthy and his evidence. It could not be doubted, at least, that the man was in earnest, and believed what he said; and things unquestionably looked rather ugly for Mr. Wentworth. Mr. Morgan took down all about the Curate’s untimely visit to Elsworthy on the night when he took Rosa home; and when he came to the evidence of the Miss Hemmings, who had seen the Curate talking to the unfortunate little girl at his own door the last time she was seen in Carlingford, the Rector shook his head with a prolonged movement, half of satisfaction, half of regret; for, to be sure, he had made up his mind beforehand who the culprit was, and