as somebody who would clear the Curate.
"Of course I shall be very glad," the Rector said to himself; but it is
a fact, that in reality he was far from being glad, and that a secret
conviction of this sentiment, stealing into his mind, made matters still
more uncomfortable. This private sense of wishing evil to another man,
of being unwilling and vexed to think well of his neighbour, was in
itself enough to disturb the Rector's tranquillity; and when to this was
added the aggravation that his wife had always been on the other side,
and had warned him against proceeding, and might, if she pleased, say,
"I told you so," it will be apparent that Mr Morgan's uneasiness was not
without foundation. Instead of going home direct to acquaint his wife
with the circumstances, about which he knew she must be curious, it was
late in the afternoon before the Rector opened his own gate. Even then
he went through the garden with a reluctant step, feeling it still more
difficult to meet her now than it would have been at first, although his
delay had arisen from the thought that it would be easier to encounter
her keen looks after an interval. There was, however, no keen look to be
dreaded at this moment. Mrs Morgan was busy with her ferns, and she did
not look up as her husband approached. She went on with her occupation,
examining carefully what withered fronds there might be about her
favourite maidenhair, even when he stopped by her side. Though her
husband's shadow fell across the plants she was tending, Mrs Morgan, for
the first time in her married life, did not look up to welcome the
Rector. She made no demonstration, said no word of displeasure, but only
showed herself utterly absorbed in, and devoted to, her ferns. There
was, to be sure, no such lover of ferns in the neighbourhood of
Carlingford as the Rector's wife.

As for Mr Morgan, he stood by her side in a state of great discomfort
and discomfiture. The good man's perceptions were not very clear, but
he saw that she had heard from some one the issue of the morning's
inquiry, and that she was deeply offended by his delay, and that, in
short, they had arrived at a serious difference, the first quarrel
since their marriage. Feeling himself in the wrong, Mr Morgan
naturally grew angry too.

"I should like to have dinner earlier to-day," he said, with the usual
indiscretion of an aggrieved husband. "Perhaps you will tell the cook,
my dear. I think I should like to have it at f