“To be sure,” said the rector, stirring his tea and enjoying himself. “Miss Hammond is not impartial. She is biassed by her bazaar.” If he had known the strong passions that were at work on the other side of the tea-table! But the curate had his back to the shaded lamp, and only a fitful gleam of fire-light betrayed even to Laura’s suspicious eyes that he was not himself. Yet, when he spoke, Lindo involuntarily started, so thinly veiled was the sneer in his tone. “Well, there is one pensioner, I think, you would do well to strike off your list,” he said. “He does not do you much credit.” “Who is that? Old Martin at the Gas House?” “No, the gentleman at the Bull and Staff!” replied the curate bluntly. “At the Bull and Staff? Who is that?” “Felton.” For a moment the rector looked puzzled. He had almost forgotten the name of Lord Dynmore’s servant. Then he colored slightly. “Yes, I know whom you mean,” he said, taken aback as much by the other’s unlooked-for tone as by the mention of the man. “But I did not know he lived at the Bull and Staff. It is not much of a place, is it?” “I should say that it was very nearly the worst house in the town!” said the curate. “Indeed! I will speak to him about it.” “I would speak to him about getting drunk, if I were you!” Clode replied with a short laugh. “He is drunk six days in the week; every day except Saturday, when he comes to you and pulls a long face above a clean neck-cloth. He is the talk of the town!” The rector stared; naturally wondering what on earth had come to the curate to induce him to take that line. He was rather surprised than offended, however, and merely answered, “I am sorry to hear it. I will speak to him about it.” “Who is this person?” Miss Hammond asked hurriedly. “I do not think that I know any one in the town of that name.” The subject seemed to be a dangerous one, but anything was better than to leave the curate free to conduct the discussion. He it was, however, who answered her. “He is a _protégé_ of the rector’s!” he said, with a laugh that was undisguisedly offensive. “You had better ask him.” “He is a servant of Lord Dynmore’s,” Lindo said, speaking to her with studious politeness, and otherwise ignoring Clode’s interruption. “But why you find him in board and lodging at the Bull and Staff free, gratis, and for nothing,” interposed the curate again with the same rudeness, “passes my comprehension!” “Perhaps that is my business,” said the rector, losing patience.