t sinner in the
world, is _always_ a gentleman!" Mrs Morgan broke off with a sparkle
in her eye, which showed that she had neither exhausted the subject,
nor was ashamed of herself; and the Rector wisely retired from the
controversy. He went to bed, and slept, good man, and dreamt that Sir
Charles Grandison had come to be his curate in place of Mr Leeson; and
when he woke, concluded quietly that Mrs Morgan had "experienced a
little attack on the nerves," as he explained afterwards to Dr
Marjoribanks. Her compunctions, her longings after the lost life they
might have lived together, her wistful womanish sense of the
impoverished existence, deprived of so many experiences, on which they
had entered in the dry maturity of their middle age, remained for ever
a mystery to her faithful husband. He was very fond of her, and had a
high respect for her character; but if she had spoken Sanscrit, he
could not have had less understanding of the meaning her words were
intended to convey.

Notwithstanding, a vague idea that his wife was disposed to side with
Mr Wentworth had penetrated the brain of the Rector, and was not
without its results. He told her next morning, in his curt way, that
he thought it would be best to wait a little before taking any steps
in the Wharfside business. "If all I hear is true, we may have to
proceed in a different way against the unhappy young man," said Mr
Morgan, solemnly; and he took care to ascertain that Mr Leeson had an
invitation somewhere else to dinner, which was doing the duty of a
tender husband, as everybody will allow.

CHAPTER XIII.

"I want to know what all this means about young Wentworth," said Mr
Wodehouse. "He's gone off, it appears, in a hurry, nobody knows where.
Well, so they say. To his brother's, is it? _I_ couldn't know that;
but look here--that's not all, nor nearly all--they say he meets that
little Rosa at Elsworthy's every night, and walks home with her, and
all that sort of thing. I tell you I don't know--that's what people
say. You ought to understand all the rights of it, you two girls. I
confess I thought it was Lucy he was after, for my part--and a very
bad match, too, and one I should never have given my consent to. And
then there is another fine talk about some fellow he's got at his
house. What's the matter, Molly?--she looks as if she was going to
faint."

"Oh no," said Miss Wodehouse, faintly; "and I don't believe a word
about Rosa Elsworthy," she sai