Of course Emily told her mamma of this arrangement, and of course Mrs. Colville smiled, and called her a silly little goose for not having patience to wait till to-morrow; adding that, for her own part, she was used to Mr. Slowkopf, and should be sorry to see any one else in his place; and then with a sigh she quitted the room. Ten o’clock came, and with it Mr. Slowkopf, who looked and felt rather peculiar, which might be accounted for by the fact that his usual beverage was spring water, but that, on the evening in question, he had been prevailed upon to drink two or three glasses of wine. Instead of creeping into the most lonely corner of the apartment, and finding something uncomfortable to sit upon, he advanced boldly into the room, and saying cheerfully, “Well, you see, ladies, here I am,” he drew an arm-chair exactly between Mrs. Colville and the fire, and seated himself thereupon, chuckling with the air of a man conscious of a good joke, but completely in the dark as to what might be the nature or subject thereof. The Rosebud was so deeply affected (in what manner we leave our readers to guess) by this unaccountable behaviour, that she dared not trust herself to speak; so Mrs. Colville, seeing that the curate appeared likely to chuckle himself to sleep without making any further attempts at conversation, began-- “Well, Mr. Slowkopf, are your never going to satisfy our curiosity?” Thus abjured, that individual started, looked round in confusion, and then in some degree relapsing into his usual manner only smiling vacantly all the time, he said-- “Before I can comply with your request, my dear madam, I must inquire to what particular subject the curiosity to which you allude especially applies?” “Oh! Mr. Slowkopf, you’re only trying to tease,” exclaimed Emily, recovering her voice and her curiosity simultaneously. “Of course about the new rector: what’s he like? come tell us--quick!” “He’s like,” replied the curate, pausing on each syllable, as if conversation were an electric telegraph office, and he had to pay extra for every additional word he uttered--“he’s very like--most other young clergymen.” “Then he _is_ young?” continued Emily interrogatively: “is he tall, gentlemanly, handsome?” “He’s not, at least as far as I observed--but such things don’t make much impression on me” (“I wonder what _does!_” was Emily’s _sotto voce_ comment)--“but I should say, he’s not what would be generally called--hard-featured. I only hope,” he continued solemnly--“I only hope that he may turn out sound: there was something I didn’t like about that Hock.” “Indeed!” returned Emily, looking very grave, with the exception of her eyes, which were laughing wickedly, “incipient spavin, perhaps.” For a moment Mr. Slowkopf gazed at her in sheer amazement; then a faint consciousness of her meaning gradually dawned upon him, and he replied--