Mr. Morris the curate, who was sitting at the small round
table where Maria Leslie, a tall, rosy, good-humoured-looking
young woman of five or six-and-twenty, was pouring out the
tea.

"If the Rector is on your side, Morris," said the Doctor, "of
course I can say nothing; only I can tell you this, you will
lose me. I will have nothing to do with your new-fangled
notions; I have said my prayers after the same fashion for the
last sixty years, and as sure as you begin to sing-song them,
instead of reading them, I give up my pew, and go off to
church at C----, with my wife and family."

"Not with Miss Leslie, I trust, Doctor," said the Curate; "we
could not get on without Miss Leslie, to lead the singing."

"Miss Leslie does as she likes, and if she prefers sham
singing to honest reading, that's her concern, not mine. But I
tell you plainly, sir, I am an old-fashioned man, and have no
patience with all these changes. I have a great mind to see if
I can't get made churchwarden, and try the effect of a little
counter-irritation. Madge, my child, bring me a cup of tea."

"I hope _you_ do not hold these opinions, Miss Leslie," said the
Curate, in an under tone to Maria Leslie; "we could not afford
to lose you from amongst us; you must not desert us."

"Oh, no, I could not give up my Ashurst Sundays," answers
Maria, fidgeting amongst her cups and saucers; "I have too
many interests here, the schools, and the church--and the
preaching--not that the Rector's sermons are always very
lively; and then I like chanting and intoning."

"And can you not convert the Doctor?"

"I think that would be impossible; Dr. Vavasour always held to
his own opinions. Will you have some more tea?"

"No more, thank you. I should have thought, Miss Leslie, you
might have converted any one; I cannot fancy any arguments you
might use being other than irresistible."

"Mr. Morris," said Mrs. Vavasour, breaking in upon this little
tete-a-tete, "have you seen those curious spiders that my
brother brought home from South America? You might fetch Uncle
Horace's case, Madge, and show them to Mr. Morris; they are
worth looking at, I assure you."

An hour later this little party had dispersed. Mr. Morris had
taken leave, Maria had gone to dress for dinner, Madge to her
school-room; Dr. Vavasour and his wife were left alone.

"I had a letter from Horace this afternoon," she said, taking
it out of her pocket, and giving it to the Doctor to read.
"