"But come along to lunch. Bless me! don't let us be too ceremonious," cried Mr Wodehouse. "Take Lucy, my dear sir--take Lucy. Though she has her garden-gloves on, she's manager indoors for all that. Molly here is the one we coddle up and take care of. Put down your knitting, child, and don't make an old woman of yourself. To be sure, it's your own concern--you should know best; but that's my opinion. Why, Wentworth, where are you off to? 'Tisn't a fast, surely--is it, Mary?--nothing of the sort; it's Thursday--_Thursday_, do you hear? and the Rector newly arrived. Come along." "I am much obliged, but I have an appointment," began the curate, with restraint. "Why didn't you keep it, then, before _we_ came in," cried Mr Wodehouse, "chatting with a couple of girls like Lucy and Mary? Come along, come along--an appointment with some old woman or other, who wants to screw flannels and things out of you--well, I suppose so! I don't know anything else you could have to say to them. Come along." "Thank you. I shall hope to wait on the Rector shortly," said young Wentworth, more and more stiffly; "but at present I am sorry it is not in my power. Good morning, Miss Wodehouse--good morning; I am happy to have had the opportunity----" and the voice of the perpetual curate died off into vague murmurs of politeness as he made his way towards the green door. That green door! what a slight, paltry barrier--one plank and no more; but outside a dusty dry road, nothing to be seen but other high brick walls, with here and there an apple-tree or a lilac, or the half-developed flower-turrets of a chestnut looking over--nothing to be seen but a mean little costermonger's cart, with a hapless donkey, and, down in the direction of St Roque's, the long road winding, still drier and dustier. Ah me! was it paradise inside? or was it only a merely mortal lawn dropped over with apple-blossoms, blue ribbons, and other vanities? Who could tell? The perpetual curate wended sulky on his way. I fear the old woman would have made neither flannel nor tea and sugar out of him in that inhuman frame of mind. "Dreadful young prig that young Wentworth," said Mr Wodehouse, "but comes of a great family, you know, and gets greatly taken notice of--to be sure he does, child. I suppose it's for his family's sake: I can't see into people's hearts. It may be higher motives, to be sure, and all that. He's gone off in a huff about something; never mind, luncheon comes up all the same. Now, let's address ourselves to the business of life."