"Then you are going to wear it?" said Mary, with the first display of malicious fun that had shone in her eyes since her accident. "Wear it? Well, yes; I suppose I must," said Salis gruffly. "I can't afford to buy myself a new one. Only a beggarly, hard-up curate, you see, Mrs Berens." "Oh, Mr Salis!" faltered the lady. "And I really was ashamed of my surplice on Sunday. Mary here patched and darned all she could; but I looked a sad tatterdemalion. Didn't you think so?" "I? Oh, no, Mr Salis; I was thinking of your discourse." "But I didn't wear it during the discourse," said Salis slowly. "Oh, of course. I should not have noticed it during the prayers," said Mrs Berens, who was strung up now. "That means that the prayers are better worth listening to than my sermons?" said Salis quickly. "I did not say so," retorted Mrs Berens, who momentarily grew more dignified and distant of manner, while Mary looked from one to the other, surprised into enjoyment of the novel scene. "Ah, well, never mind," said Salis half-bitterly. "Never mind the sermon, Mrs Berens." "Is not that rather bad advice for one's pastor to give to a member of his flock, Mr Salis?" "I'm afraid it is," said Salis, laughing. "I am beaten. Now it's my turn, madam," he added to himself. "What do you think of that, Mrs Berens?" and he held out and displayed the surplice, as a _modiste_ would a dress. "It looks very white, Mr Salis," said the lady, fanning herself with a highly-scented handkerchief. "Are you a judge of the quality of linen, Mrs Berens?" "Well, not a judge; but I think I can tell that this is very fine." "Exactly," said Salis; "very fine, ma'am. Do you know what this is?" "What it is--ahem! I suppose it is a surplice." "Yes, ma'am, but it is something more," said Salis sharply; "it is an insult!" "An insult, Mr Salis?" "Yes, ma'am, an insult; an anonymous insult! Somebody had said to himself or herself, `This poor curate has lost his surplice, and can't afford another without going into debt; I'll buy him one and send him-- carriage paid.'" "Mr Salis!" "Yes, ma'am. That is the state of the case. All right, Mary, my dear; I know what I am saying. Perhaps Mrs Berens may know who sent it." "Mr Salis! I--" "Stop, stop, ma'am; pray don't tell me. I would rather not know; it would be too painful to me. I only wish you, if you happen to know, to tell the anonymous donor what I feel about the matter. I was going to send the robe back to the maker: but, on second thoughts, I said to myself, I cannot afford a new one, so will swallow my pride, and wear it regularly, as a garb of penance, as a standing reproach--to the giver." There was quite a strong odour of patchouli in the room, for Mrs Berens was whisking her handkerchief about wildly.