‘A miss is as good as a mile. I’ll go over at once, and send in the nurse if she wants it. What did you say was the name? Brownjohn! Oh,’ said Miss Grey, with a sudden diminution of energy, ‘I’m afraid, Florry, we know the illnesses of Mrs. Brownjohn. She has a great many, and whatever district she is in, the visitor always neglects her. We know her case very well.’ ‘The woman is very ill now, and the house in a dreadful state; and the man, of course, as if things were not bad enough, taking refuge in the public-house.’ ‘Ah, that I can understand----’ ‘The filthy place, Miss Grey, or the public-house?’ the curate said, with a little severity. ‘Oh, both, both! You must be a little human. The public-house is the natural consequence of a crowded little room, and no comfort--even without the dirt.’ ‘But surely you don’t think that ought to be so? Surely you don’t suppose that it isn’t the man’s duty to rectify things instead of making them worse? If the wife’s unable to do her part, instead of abandoning her brutally, and letting everything go to destruction, oughtn’t he to stand in, to do what he can, to make life possible? That’s how I read a man’s duty, at least.’ ‘Oh, my dear Mr. Osborne,’ said little Miss Grey, ‘it’s a man’s duty to be a good Christian and a perfect man. And so it is everybody’s duty; we all acknowledge that.’ Mr. Osborne snorted slightly, with the impatience of a fiery horse suddenly pulled up. ‘I hope I demand less than perfection, though I know that I ought not to be content with less,’ he said. ‘But in the meantime,’ he added, pausing a minute to expel that hot breath of impatience, ‘I don’t suppose you will think it right because of Mrs. Kendal’s feelings, or even her own imperfections, that this poor creature should be left to die?’ Miss Grey and Florry exchanged glances behind the curate’s back, with a slight shaking of heads. Oh, these arbitrary young men, wanting everything their own way, and thinking you have no feeling if you don’t go so far as they do! This was the sentiment in the older lady’s mind; but Florence was naturally more fierce. ‘We are not in the habit of leaving poor people to die--when there is any truth in it,’ she said. He gave her a look half fierce, half tender, full of the natural animosity of a man checked in his certainties of opinion, yet with a longing that she at least should understand and know what he meant. ‘Oh yes,’ said Miss Grey, ‘I’ll go; and have a little order put in the place, at least. That little girl--- the eldest, Florry, don’t you remember?--who was sent to the seaside after her fever, she ought to be good for something now.’ ‘There is a little girl,’ said the curate.