ho handed
him the paper he wanted, and he gave her a little nod without looking at
her. But when he had closed his note, and laid it on the counter to be
delivered, the Curate found her still standing near, and looked at the
little blushing creature with some natural admiration. "So you have come
back," he said; "but mind you don't go into Grange Lane any more after
dark, little Rosa." When he had left the shop and finished this little
matter, he bethought himself of his aunts, whom he had not seen since he
returned. Aunt Dora was not at her usual sentinel window when he crossed
Grange Lane towards their garden-door; and the door itself was open, and
some one from the Blue Boar was carrying in a large portmanteau. Mr
Wentworth's curiosity was strangely excited by the sight. He said, "Who
has come, Lewis?" to Miss Wentworth's man, who stood in the hall
superintending the arrival, but ran up-stairs without waiting for any
answer. He felt by instinct that the visitor was some one likely to
increase the confusion of affairs, and perplex matters more and more to
himself.

But even this presentiment did not prepare him for the astonishing sight
which met his eyes when he entered the drawing-room. There the three
ladies were all assembled, regarding with different developments of
interest the new-comer, who had thrown himself, half-reclining, on a
sofa. Aunt Dora was sitting by him with a bottle of eau-de-Cologne in
her hand, for this meeting had evidently gone to the heart of the
returned prodigal. Aunt Dora was ready to have sacrificed all the veal
in the country in honour of Jack's repentance; and the Curate stood
outside upon the threshold, looking at the scene with the strangest
half-angry, half-comical realisation of the state of mind of the elder
brother in the parable. He had himself been rather found fault with,
excused, and tolerated, among his relations; but Jack had at once become
master of the position, and taken possession of all their sympathies. Mr
Wentworth stood gazing at them, half-amused, and yet more angry than
amused--feeling, with a little indignation, as was natural, that the
pretended penitence of the clever sinner was far more effective and
interesting than his own spotless loyalty and truth. To be sure, they
were only three old ladies--three old aunts--and he smiled at the sight;
but though he smiled, he did not like it, and perhaps was more abrupt
than usual in his salutations. Miss Leonora was seat