"MY DEAR MISS CLIBBORN,--With some trepidation I take up my pen to address you on a matter which, to me at least, is of the very greatest importance. We have so many sympathies in common that my meaning will hardly escape you. I daresay you will find my diffidence ridiculous, but, under the circumstances, I think it is not unpardonable. It will be no news to you when I confess that I am an exceptionally shy man, and that must be my excuse in sending you this letter. In short, I wish to ask you to grant me a brief interview; we have so few opportunities of seeing one another in private that I can find no occasion of saying to you what I wish. Indeed, for a long period my duty has made it necessary for me to crush my inclination. Now, however, that things have taken a different turn, I venture, as I said, to ask you to give me a few minutes' conversation.--I am, my dear Miss Clibborn, your very sincere, "THOMAS DRYLAND. "P.S.--I open this letter to say that I have just met your father on the Green, who tells me that he and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge Wells this afternoon. Unless, therefore, I hear from you to the contrary, I shall (D.V.) present myself at your house at 3 P.M." "What can he want to see me about?" exclaimed Mary, the truth occurring to her only to be chased away as a piece of egregious vanity. It was more reasonable to suppose that Mr. Dryland had on hand some charitable scheme in which he desired her to take part. "Anyhow," she thought philosophically, "I suppose I shall know when he comes." At one and the same moment the church clock struck three, and Mr. Dryland rang the Clibborns' bell. He came into the dining-room in his best coat, his honest red face shining with soap, and with a consciousness that he was about to perform an heroic deed. "This is kind of you, Miss Clibborn! Do you know, I feared the servant was going to say you were 'not at home.'" "Oh, I never let her say that when I'm in. Mamma doesn't think it wrong, but one can't deny that it's an untruth." "What a beautiful character you have!" cried the curate, with enthusiasm. "I'm afraid I haven't really; but I like to be truthful." "Were you surprised to receive my letter?" "I'm afraid I didn't understand it." "I was under the impression that I expressed myself with considerable perspicacity," remarked the curate, with a genial smile. "I don't pretend to be clever." "Oh, but you are, Miss Clibborn. There's no denying it." "I wish I thought so." "You're so modest. I have always thought that your mental powers were very considerable indeed. I can assure you it has been a great blessing to me to find someone here who was capable of taking an intelligent interest in Art and Literature. In these little country places one misses intellectual society so much." "I'm not ashamed to say that I've learnt a lot from you, Mr. Dryland."