"That does not matter, Frank," she replied in the same grave accents, as coldly as if she was speaking to a stranger--"a gentleman should be a gentleman always. I tell you what,"--she continued, turning away as she spoke--"I will never speak to you again, Frank, until you apologise to Mr Mawley for the language you have used!" She then left my side, taking Miss Pimpernell's arm and saying something about having a long chat with her. The end of it was that she had her way. I had to go back to search for the curate and ask his pardon, like a dog with its tail between its legs. I was certain he would exult over it, and he did. He had not the generosity to meet me half-way and accept my apology frankly at once. He made me humble myself to the full, seizing the opportunity to read me a long homily on Christian forbearance, in which, I fervently believed at the time, he was almost as deficient as myself. However, I had the consolation of knowing that my apology was not made on his account, but entirely for the sake of my darling Min; although, I confess, I did not like to see her taking such an interest in him as to ask it of me. CHAPTER ELEVEN. JEALOUSY. Whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny, and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain! Some weeks after our conversation in the churchyard, I met old Shuffler one day waddling along the Terrace in a state of great excitement. He told me he was going to an auction, and pressed me to accompany him, that he might have the benefit of my advice and opinion concerning certain objects of "bigotry and virtue," as he styled them, which he designed purchasing--should he be able to get them knocked down cheap. On asking the reason for such an unwonted outlay on his part, he said that he was about furnishing a new villa for which he had just found a tenant. "A fresh tenant!" said I with surprise, a newcomer in our suburb being always regarded as a sort of rare bird. "A fresh tenant! Who is he, or she, or whoever it may be?" "Well, sir," said Shuffler, "it's a secret as yet; but I don't mind telling you, Mr Lorton, as I know you won't let it out--Mr Mawley, the parsun, has took the villa!" "Mr Mawley!" I exclaimed, with redoubled astonishment. "Why, what on earth does _he_ want a house for?" "I believe, sir," said Shuffler, blinking his sound eye furiously the while, to give a facetious effect to his words, "he's agoin' to get married. So my missus says at least, sir; and she gen'rally knows wot's agoin' on. Wemmenfolk finds out them things somehow or other!" "Mawley going to be married!" I repeated. "Nonsense, Shuffler! it is probably some mistake. You and your wife must have let your brains run wool-gathering, and made the story up between you!"