she?" He had shut the door behind him, and stood in
the middle of the room facing Wodehouse, and overawing him by his
superior stature, force, and virtue. Before the Curate's look the eyes
of the other fell; but he had fallen by chance on a reasonable defence
enough, and so long as he held by that felt himself tolerably safe.

"I don't know anything about her," he repeated; "how should I know
anything about her? I aint a fool, by Jove, whatever I may be: a man
may talk to a pretty girl without any harm. I mayn't be as good as a
parson, but, by Jove, I aint a fool," he muttered through his beard.
He had begun to speak with a kind of sulky self-confidence; but his
voice sunk lower as he proceeded. Jack Wentworth's elegant levity was
a terrible failure in the hands of the coarser rascal. He fell back by
degrees upon the only natural quality which enabled him to offer any
resistance. "By Jove, I aint an idiot," he repeated with dull
obstinacy, and upon that statement made a stand in his dogged,
argumentative way.

"Would you like it better if I said you were a villain?" asked the
exasperated Curate. "I don't want to discuss your character with you.
Where is Rosa Elsworthy? She is scarcely more than a child," said Mr
Wentworth, "and a fool, if you like. But where is she? I warn you
that unless you tell me you shall have no more assistance from me."

"And I tell you that I don't know," said Wodehouse; and the two men
stood facing each other, one glowing with youthful indignation, the
other enveloped in a cloud of sullen resistance. Just then there came
a soft knock at the door, and Sarah peeped in with a coquettish air,
which at no other time in her existence had been visible in the sedate
demeanour of Mrs Hadwin's favourite handmaid. The stranger lodger was
"a gentleman," notwithstanding his shabbiness, and he was a very
civil-spoken gentleman, without a bit of pride; and Sarah was still a
woman, though she was plain and a housemaid. "Please, sir, I've
brought you your coffee," said Sarah, and she carried in her tray,
which contained all the materials for a plentiful breakfast. When she
saw Mr Wentworth standing in the room, and Wodehouse in his
shirt-sleeves, Sarah said, "La!" and set down her tray hastily and
vanished; but the episode, short as it was, had not been without its
use to the culprit who was standing on his defence.

"I'm not staying here on my own account," said Wodehouse,--"it's no
pleasure to me to be he