All this Mr. Clode might have observed—he was sagacious enough; but for the time his judgment was clouded by his jealousy, and in his impatience he fancied that the rector’s troubles were passing away. Each visit Lindo paid to the Town House, each time his name was coupled with Laura Hammond’s, as people were beginning to couple it, chafed the curate’s sore afresh and kept it raw. So that even Stephen Clode’s self-restraint and command of temper began to fail him, and more than once he said sharp things to his commanding-officer, which made Lindo open his eyes in unaffected surprise. Clode began to feel indeed that the position was becoming intolerable; and though he had long ago determined that the waiting-game was the one he ought to play, he presently—in the first week of the new year—changed his mind. Lindo had announced his intention of devoting the afternoon—it was Wednesday—to his district; and, taking advantage of this, the curate thought he might indulge himself in a call at the Town House without fear of unpleasant interruption. He would not admit that he had any other motive in going there than just to pay a visit—which he certainly owed. But in truth he was in a dangerous humor. And, alas! when he had been ushered along the thickly carpeted passage and entered the drawing-room, there, comfortably seated in the half-light before the fire, the tea-things gleaming beside them, were Laura and the rector! The curate’s face grew dark. He almost felt that Lindo, who had really been driven in by the rain, had betrayed him; and he shook hands with Laura and sat down in complete silence, unable to trust himself to answer the rector’s cheery greeting by so much as a word. It was all he could do to answer “Thank you,” when Miss Hammond asked him if he would take tea. She, of course, saw that something was amiss, and felt not a little awkward between her two friends; but luckily the rector remained ignorant and at his ease—he saw nothing, and went on talking. It was the best thing he could have done, only, unfortunately, he had to do with a man whom nothing in his present mood could please. “I am glad you have turned up at this particular moment,” Lindo said. “Let me have your opinion. Miss Hammond says that I am pauperizing the town by giving too much away.” “If you are half as generous at our bazaar on the 10th,” she retorted, “you will do twice as much good.” “Or half as much evil!” he said lightly. “Have it that way, if you like,” she answered laughing. The curate set his teeth together in impotent rage. They were so easy, so unconstrained, on such excellent terms with one another. When Laura, who was secretly quaking, held out the toast to him and let her eyes dwell for an instant on his, he looked away stubbornly. “Were you asking my opinion?” he said in a voice he vainly strove to render cold and dispassionate.