The Curate put away the offered luxury with a determined hand. How much easier, how much pleasanter it would have been to accept it, to veil his purpose with the friendly nothings of conversation, and thus perhaps delude his friend into disclosures without affronting him by a solemn demand! That would have been very well had Charley had any confidence in his own powers--but he had not, and he put the temptation away from him. ‘No, thank you, Douglas,’ he said, ‘what I want to say is something which you may think very interfering and impertinent. Do you remember a year ago when you were at the Rectory and we had a talk--one very wet night?’ ‘Perfectly. You were sulky because you thought I had cut you out; but you always were the best of fellows, Charley----’ ‘Don’t talk of it like that. You might have taken my life blood from me after that, and I shouldn’t have minded. That’s a figure of speech. I mean that I gave up to you then what wasn’t mine to give, what you had got without any help from me. You know what I mean. If you think I didn’t mind, that was a mistake. A great many things have happened since then, and some things have not happened that looked as if they ought to have done so. You made use of me after that, and I was glad enough to be of use. I want to ask you one question now, Douglas. I don’t say that you’ll like to be questioned by me----’ ‘No,’ said Cosmo, ‘a man does not like to be questioned by another man who has no particular right to interfere: for I don’t pretend not to understand what you mean.’ ‘No: you can’t but understand what I mean. All of us, down about Mount, take a great interest--there’s never a meeting in the county of any kind but questions are always asked. As for my father, he is excited on the subject. He cannot keep quiet. Will you tell me for his satisfaction and my own, what is going to come of it? is anything going to come of it? I think that, as old friends, and mixed up as I have been all through, I have a right to inquire.’ ‘You mean,’ said Cosmo, coolly knocking a pipe upon the mantelpiece with his back turned to the questioner, whose voice was broken with emotion, and who was grasping the table nervously all the while he spoke--‘you mean, is marriage going to come of it? at least, I suppose that is what you mean.’ The Curate replied by a sort of inarticulate gurgle in his throat, an assent which excitement prevented from forming itself into words. ‘Well!’ said the other. He took his time to everything he did, filled the pipe aforesaid, lighted it with various long-drawn puffs, and finally seated himself at the opposite side of the dark fireplace, over which the candles on the mantelpiece threw an additional shadow. ‘Well! it is no such simple matter as you seem to think.’ ‘I never said it was a simple matter; and yet when one thinks that there are other men,’ cried the Curate, with momentary vehemence, ‘who would give their heads----’