, whose agitated
looks were the most inexplicable feature of the whole--"no shelter even;
no near relations I ever heard of--and nobody to take care of Lucy if--"
Here he stopped short and went to the window, and stood looking out in a
state of great bewilderment. The late Rector was so buried in his own
thoughts, whatever they might be, that he did not pay any attention to
the further conversation which went on behind him--of which, however,
there was very little--and only came to himself when he saw Mr Wentworth
go rapidly through the garden. Mr Proctor rushed after the Perpetual
Curate. He might be seriously compromised, as Mr Morgan said; but he
was more sympathetic than anybody else in Carlingford under present
circumstances; and Mr Proctor, in his middle-aged uncertainty, could not
help having a certain confidence in the young man's promptitude and
vigour. He made up to him out of breath when he was just entering George
Street. Carlingford had paid what respect it could to Mr Wodehouse's
memory; and now the shutters were being taken off the shop-windows, and
people in general were very willing to reward themselves for their
self-denial by taking what amusement they could out of the reports
which already began to be circulated about the way in which the Miss
Wodehouses were "left." When the late Rector came up with the Perpetual
Curate opposite Masters's shop there was quite a group of people there
who noted the conjunction. What could it mean? Was there going to be a
compromise? Was Carlingford to be shamefully cheated out of the
"investigation," and all the details about Rosa Elsworthy, for which it
hungered? Mr Proctor put his arm through that of the Curate of St
Roque's, and permitted himself to be swept along by the greater impetus
of the young man's rapid steps, for at this moment, being occupied with
more important matters, the late Rector had altogether forgotten Mr
Wentworth's peculiar position, and the cloud that hung over him.

"What a very extraordinary thing!" said Mr Proctor. "What could have
betrayed old Wodehouse into such a blunder! He must have known well
enough. This son--this fellow--has been living all the time, of
course. It is quite inexplicable to me," said the aggrieved man. "Do
you know if there are any aunts or uncles--any people whom poor little
Lucy might live with, for instance, if--" And here Mr Proctor once
more came to a dead stop. Mr Wentworth, for his part, was so far from
thinkin