that he should remember more
distinctly than anything else her age, and her unlucky failure on that
one occasion. "You have just said that I could not manage," said the
mild woman, not without a little vigour of her own; "and how then
could I help you, Mr Proctor? Lucy knows a great deal more about
parish work than I do," she went on in a lower tone; and for one half
of a second there arose in the mind of the elder sister a kind of
wistful half envy of Lucy, who _was_ young, and knew how to manage--a
feeling which died in unspeakable remorse and compunction as soon as
it had birth.

"But Lucy would not have me," said the late Rector; "and indeed I should
not know what to do with her if she would have me;--but you--It is a
small parish, but it's not a bad living. I should do all I could to make
you comfortable. At least we might try," said Mr Proctor, in his most
insinuating tone. "Don't you think we might try? at least it would do--"
He was going to say "no harm," but on second thoughts rejected that
expression. "At least I should be very glad if you would," said the
excellent man, with renewed confusion. "It's a nice little rectory, with
a pretty garden, and all that sort of thing; and--and perhaps--it might
help you to settle about going away--and--and I daresay there would be
room for Lucy. Don't you think you would try?" cried Mr Proctor,
volunteering, in spite of himself, the very hospitality which he had
thought it hard might be required of him; but somehow his suit seemed to
want backing at the actual moment when it was being made.

As for Miss Wodehouse, she sat and listened to him till he began to
falter, and then her composure gave way all at once. "But as for
trying," she gasped, in broken mouthfuls of speech, "that would
never--never do, Mr Proctor. It has to be done--done for good and
all--if--if it is done at all," sobbed the poor lady, whose voice came
somewhat muffled through her handkerchief and her tears.

"Then it shall be for good and all!" cried Mr Proctor, with a sudden
impulse of energy. This was how it came about that Miss Wodehouse and
the late Rector were engaged. He had an idea that he might be expected
to kiss her, and certainly ought to call her Mary after this; and
hovered for another minute near her seat, not at all disinclined for
the former operation. But his courage failed him, and he only drew a
chair a little closer and sat down, hoping she would soon stop crying.
And indeed, by t