‘I said so--but then she cried, poor old body, and said they were worse off now than before--for if they wanted something very bad out of the usual way, some kind person used to give it to them--whereas now when they have a regular pension they have to stick to it, and nobody minds.’ ‘There’s a sermon,’ cried Miss Grey, ‘on the uses of beneficence in a small parish. You have only to tell Mr. Swinford, Florry, and he’ll give them the advance and the week’s money too, and next time they’ll want a fortnight’s advance--it’s what I’ve always said. He’s a nice young fellow and a warm heart, but to sow money about is no good.’ ‘You said yourself, Miss Grey, that so much a week----’ ‘Oh yes, I said it myself--I’d like to give them the advance and the week’s money too, just as well as Mr. Swinford does--though Mr. Osborne thinks on the other hand that I am ready, because I’ve little faith in her, to leave a poor creature to die. Oh, don’t say anything--I know of course you didn’t exactly mean that. Are you going too? Good-bye; I’ll get my bonnet and I’ll be in Mead Lane before you’ve got to the Rectory gate.’ It did not appear, however, that there was any intention in the mind of these two young people to take the road which led to the Rectory gate. There was a momentary pause when they got outside, and Florence hurriedly, in view of the fact that the curate’s way to his lodging did lie in that direction, held out her hand to him. ‘Good morning, I am going up to Mrs. Gould’s to see about the nurse,’ she said, somewhat breathless and eager to escape. ‘I am going that way, too,’ said the young man, but not without a blush. Curates are, after all, like other men, and do not hesitate to change their route and to assert that they always meant to go that way; but there is so much consistency in the young Anglican that he blushes when he announces that innocent fallacy. He was going that way: where, then, was he going to? The part of the parish in which Mrs. Gould lived was not in the curate’s district, and he could not surely have any impertinent intention of interfering with what was in the Rector’s hands? These ideas flashed through the mind of Florence, but naturally she did not put them into words. She was very angry with Mr. Osborne, full of indignation, and yet she did not wish him to turn back and leave her at Miss Grey’s door. The blush which had surprised him as he told that fib reflected itself on her countenance, but in both their hearts there was a thrill of pleasure as they turned thus into the wrong way--the way that Florry had chosen to elude him, without in the least wanting to go to Mrs. Gould’s (for she knew all the time where the parish nurse was); the way that he falsely asserted to be his, though he knew it was nothing of the kind. It was a guilty pleasure, which neither of them would have owned to, but yet there was not much guilt in it after all.