Wentworth to be able to conclude that he was obliged to walk
home with her. They were both coming out from their evening devotions
into the tranquil spring twilight, very glad of the charmed quiet, and
happy somehow to find themselves alone together. That had happened but
seldom of late; and a certain expectation of something that might
happen hovered over the heads of Lucy and the Curate. It did not
matter that he dared not say to her what was in his heart. Mr
Wentworth was only a young man after all, and the thrill of a possible
revelation was upon him in that half-hour upon which he was entering
with so profound a sense of happiness. And then it was an accidental
meeting, and if anything did happen, they could not blame themselves
as if they had sought this opportunity of being together. The
circumstances were such that they might call it providential, if
anything came of it. But just as the two had made their first step out
of the church, where the organ was still murmuring low in the
darkness, and where the music of the last Amen, in which he had
recognised Lucy's voice, had not quite died from the Curate's ears, to
meet Miss Dora, pale and fluttered, full of news and distress, with no
other thought in her mind but to appropriate her dear Frank, and take
his arm and gain his ear! It was very hard upon the Perpetual Curate.
As for Lucy, she, of course, did not say anything, but merely arranged
her veil and greeted Miss Wentworth sweetly. Lucy walked on the other
side of the Curate, saying little as Miss Dora's eager shower of
questions and remarks ran on. Perhaps she had a little insight into Mr
Wentworth's feelings, and no doubt it was rather tantalising. When
they came to Mrs Hadwin's door, the young Anglican made a spasmodic
effort, which in his heart he felt to be unprincipled, and which, had
it been successful, would have totally taken away the accidental and
unpremeditated character of this walk with Lucy, which he could not
find it in his heart to relinquish. He proposed that his aunt should
go in and rest while he saw Miss Wodehouse safely home--he was sure
she was tired, he said, eagerly. "No, my dear, not at all," said Miss
Dora; "it is such a pleasant evening, and I know Miss Wodehouse's is
not very far off. I should like the walk, and, besides, it is too
late, you know, to see Mrs Hadwin, and I should not like to go in
without calling on her; and besides--"

Mr Wentworth in his aggravation gave a moment