e man; but, on the contrary, read it with a more than ordinary
calmness, and preached to the excited people one of those terse little
unimpassioned sermons of his, from which it was utterly impossible to
divine whether he was in the depths of despair or at the summit and
crown of happiness. People who had been used to discover a great many of
old Mr Bury's personal peculiarities in his sermons, and who, of recent
days, had found many allusions which it was easy to interpret in the
discourses of Mr Morgan, retired altogether baffled from the clear and
succinct brevity of the Curate of St Roque's. He was that day in
particular so terse as to be almost epigrammatic, not using a word
more than was necessary, and displaying that power of saying a great
deal more than at the first moment he appeared to say, in which Mr
Wentworth's admirers specially prided themselves. Perhaps a momentary
human gratification in the consciousness of having utterly baffled
curiosity, passed through the Curate's mind as he took off his robes
when the service was over; but he was by no means prepared for the
ordeal which awaited him when he stepped forth from the pretty porch of
St Roque's. There his three aunts were awaiting him, eager to hear all
about it, Miss Dora, for the first time in her life, holding the
principal place. "We are going away to-morrow, Frank, and of course you
are coming to lunch with us," said aunt Dora, clinging to his arm. "Oh,
my dear boy, I am so happy, and so ashamed, to hear of it. To think you
should be provided for, and nobody belonging to you have anything to do
with it! I don't know what to say," said Miss Dora, who was half crying
as usual; "and as for Leonora, one is frightened to speak to her. Oh, I
wish you would say something to your aunt Leonora, Frank. I don't know
whether she is angry with us or with you or with herself, or what it is;
or if it is an attack on the nerves--though I never imagined she had any
nerves; but, indeed, whatever my brother may say, it looks very
like--dreadfully like--the coming-on of the Wentworth complaint. Poor
papa was just like that when he used to have it coming on; and Leonora
is not just--altogether--what you would call a female, Frank. Oh, my
dear boy, if you would only speak to her!" cried Miss Dora, who was a
great deal too much in earnest to perceive anything comical in what she
had said.

"I should think it must be an attack on the temper," said the Curate,
who, now th