'Ah well! you don't like the word; but at any rate she thinks you behaved with great spirit and discretion under the circumstances, and quite overlooks any little imprudence. She hopes to see you the day after to-morrow, and will write and tell you so.' Perhaps no intentional slander ever gave the object greater annoyance than Cilly experienced on learning that the good curate had, in the innocence of his heart, represented her as in a state of proper feeling, and interceded for her; and it was all the worse because it was impossible to her to damp his kind satisfaction, otherwise than by a brief 'Thank you,' the tone of which he did not comprehend. 'Was she alone?' she asked. 'Didn't I tell you the young lady was with her, and the brother?' 'Robert Fulmort!' and Cilla's heart sank at finding that it could not have been he who had been with Owen. 'Ay, the young fellow that slept at my house. He has taken a curacy at St. Wulstan's.' 'Did he tell you so?' with an ill-concealed start of consternation. 'Not he; lads have strange manners. I should have thought after the terms we were upon here, he need not have been quite so much absorbed in his book as never to speak!' 'He has plenty in him instead of manners,' said Lucilla; 'but I'll take him in hand for it.' Though Lucilla's instinct of defence had spoken up for Robert, she felt hurt at his treatment of her old friend, and could only excuse it by a strong fit of conscious moodiness. His taking the curacy was only explicable, she thought, as a mode of showing his displeasure with herself, since he could not ask her to marry into Whittingtonia; but 'That must be all nonsense,' thought she; 'I will soon have him down off his high horse, and Mr. Parsons will never keep him to his engagement--silly fellow to have made it--or if he does, I shall only have the longer to plague him. It will do him good. Let me see! he will come down to-morrow with Honora's note. I'll put on my lilac muslin with the innocent little frill, and do my hair under his favourite net, and look like such a horrid little meek ringdove that he will be perfectly disgusted with himself for having ever taken me for a fishing eagle. He will be abject, and I'll be generous, and not give another peck till it has grown intolerably stupid to go on being good, or till he presumes.' For the first time for many days, Lucilla awoke with the impression that something pleasant was about to befall her, and her wild heart was in a state of glad flutter as she donned the quiet dress, and found that the subdued colouring and graver style rendered her more softly lovely than she had ever seen herself. The letters were on the breakfast-table when she came down, the earliest as usual, and one was from Honor Charlecote, the first sight striking her with vexation, as discomfiting her hopes that it would come by a welcome bearer. Yet that might be no reason why he should not yet run down. She tore it open.