as he.
Don't treat us as if we were in the nursery--a parson of advanced
views like you should have something a little more novel to say."

"And so I have," said Mr Wentworth, with a heightened colour. "There
are capital rooms at the Blue Boar, which you will find very
comfortable, I am sure. I don't remember that we have ever been more
than acquaintances; and to take possession of a man's house in his
absence argues a high degree of friendship, as you are aware. It will
be with difficulty that I shall find room for myself to-night; but
to-morrow, I trust, if business requires you to remain in Carlingford,
you will be able to find accommodation at the Blue Boar."

The elder brother grew very red all over his face. "I will go at
once," he said, with a little start; and then he took a second
thought. "It is a poor sort of way of winning a victory," he said, in
contemptuous tones, after he had overcome his first impulse; "but if
you choose that, it is no matter to me. I'll go to-morrow, as you
say--to pack up to-night is too much for my energies. In the mean time
it won't disturb you, I hope, if I go on with my novel. I don't
suppose any further civilities are necessary between you and me," said
Jack, once more putting up his feet on the sofa. He arranged himself
with an indifference which was too genuine for bravado, opening his
book, and puffing his cigar with great coolness. He did all but turn
his back upon the others, and drew the little table nearer to him, in
utter disregard of the fact that the Curate was leaning his arm on it.
In short, he retired from the contest with a kind of grandeur, with
his cigar and his novel, and the candles which lighted him up
placidly, and made him look like the master of the house and the
situation. There was a pause for some minutes, during which the others
looked on--Mr Wentworth with a perfectly unreasonable sense of defeat,
and poor Wodehouse with that strange kind of admiration which an
unsuccessful good-for-nothing naturally feels for a triumphant rascal.
They were in the shade looking on, and he in the light enjoying
himself calmly in his way. The sight put an end to various twinges of
repentance in the bosom of the inferior sinner. Jack Wentworth, lying
on the sofa in superb indifference, victorious over all sense of
right, did more to confirm his humble admirer in the life which he had
almost made up his mind to abandon, than even his own inclination
towards forbidden pleas