him away from you. Keep your heart at ease
as much as you can. Good-bye."

"You mean about Gerald. Oh, you don't _really_ think he could ever
have had the heart?" said Mrs Wentworth. "I am so sorry you are going
away without any dinner or anything comfortable; and it was so good of
you to come, and I feel so much better. I shall always be grateful to
you, dear Frank, for showing Gerald his mistake; and tell dear aunt
Dora I am so much obliged to her for thinking of the blanket for the
bassinet. I am sure it will be lovely. Must you go? Good-bye. I am
sure you have always been like my own brother--Frank, dear, good-bye.
Come and kiss your dear uncle, children, and say good-bye."

This was how Louisa dismissed him after all his efforts on her behalf.
The girls were waiting for him on the road, still full of anxiety to
know why he had come so suddenly, and was going away so soon. "We have
not had half a peep of you," said Letty; "and it is wicked of you not
to tell us; as if anybody could sympathise like your sisters--your
very own sisters, Frank," said the young lady, with a pressure on his
arm. In such a mixed family the words meant something.

"We had made up our minds you had come to tell papa," said Janet,
with her pretty shy look; "that was my guess--you might tell us her
name, Frank."

"Whose name?" said the unfortunate Curate; and the dazzling vision of
Lucy Wodehouse's face, which came upon him at the moment, was such,
that the reluctant blood rose high in his cheeks--which, of course,
the girls were quick enough to perceive.

"It _is_ about some girl, after all," said Letty; "oh me! I did not
think you had been like all the rest. I thought you had other things
to think of. Janet may say what she likes--but I do think it's
contemptible always to find out, when a man, who can do lots of
things, is in trouble, that it's about some girl or other like one's
self! I did not expect it of you, Frank--but all the same, tell us who
she is?" said the favourite sister, clasping his arm confidentially,
and dropping her voice.

"There is the train. Good-bye, girls, and be sure you write to me
to-morrow how my father is," said the Curate. He had taken his seat
before they could ask further questions, and in a minute or two more
was dashing out of the little station, catching their smiles and
adieus as he went, and turning back last of all for another look at
Gerald, who stood leaning on his stick, looking after the trai