ow her."

"Don't you think she's nice? Only my goose is cooked, I'd go in for
her sooner than any one I see about."

"Sooner than your own squire's four daughters?"

"Well,--yes. They're nice girls too. But I don't quite fancy one out
of four. And they'd look higher than the curate."

"A prebendary is as high as a squire," said Gordon.

"There are prebendaries and there are squires. Our squire isn't a
swell, though he's an uncommonly good fellow. If I get a wife from
one and a living from the other, I shall think myself very lucky.
Miss Lawrie is a handsome girl, and everything that she ought to be;
but if you were to see Kattie Forrester, I think you would say that
she was A 1. I sometimes wonder whether old Whittlestaff will think
of marrying."

Gordon sat silent, turning over one or two matters in his mind. How
supremely happy was this young parson with his Kattie Forrester and
his promised living,--in earning the proceeds of which there need
be no risk, and very little labour,--and with his bottle of port
wine and comfortable house! All the world seemed to have smiled
with Montagu Blake. But with him, though there had been much
success, there had been none of the world's smiles. He was aware
at this moment, or thought that he was aware, that the world would
never smile on him,--unless he should succeed in persuading Mr
Whittlestaff to give up the wife whom he had chosen. Then he felt
tempted to tell his own story to this young parson. They were alone
together, and it seemed as though Providence had provided him with a
friend. And the subject of Mary Lawrie's intended marriage had been
brought forward in a peculiar manner. But he was by nature altogether
different from Mr Blake, and could not blurt out his love-story with
easy indifference. "Do you know Mr Whittlestaff well?" he asked.

"Pretty well. I've been here four years; and he's a near neighbour. I
think I do know him well."

"Is he a sort of man likely to fall in love with such a girl as Miss
Lawrie, seeing that she is an inmate of his house?"

"Well," said the parson, after some consideration, "if you ask me, I
don't think he is. He seems to have settled himself down to a certain
manner of life, and will not, I should say, be stirred from it very
quickly. If you have any views in that direction, I don't think he'll
be your rival."

"Is he a man to care much for a girl's love?"

"I should say not."

"But if he had once brought himself to ask h