nately certain," said Mrs. Jackson, with a sort of
pious vindictiveness, "Captain Parsons has behaved abominably, and it's
our duty to do something."

"Colonel Clibborn threatens to horsewhip him."

"It would do him good," cried Mrs. Jackson; "and I should like to be
there to see it!"

They paused a moment to gloat over the imaginary scene of Jamie's
chastisement.

"He's a wicked man. Fancy throwing the poor girl over when she's waited
five years. I think he ought to be made to marry her."

"I'm bound to say that no gentleman would have acted like that," said
the Vicar.

"I wanted Archibald to go and speak seriously to Captain Parsons. He
ought to know what we think of him, and it's obviously our duty to tell
him."

"His parents are very much distressed. One can see that, although they
say so little."

"It's not enough to be distressed. They ought to have the strength of
mind to insist upon his marrying Mary Clibborn. But they stick up for
everything he does. They think he's perfect. I'm sure it's not
respectful to God to worship a human being as they do their son."

"They certainly have a very exaggerated opinion of him," assented Mr.
Dryland.

"And I should like to know why. He's not good-looking."

"Very ordinary," agreed Mr. Dryland, with a rapid glance at the
convenient mirror. "I don't think his appearance is manly."

Whatever the curate's defects of person--and he flattered himself that
he was modest enough to know his bad points--no one, he fancied, could
deny him manliness. It is possible that he was not deceived. Put him in
a bowler-hat and a bell-bottomed coat, and few could have distinguished
him from a cab-driver.

"I don't see anything particular in his eyes or hair," pursued Mrs.
Jackson.

"His features are fairly regular. But that always strikes me as insipid
in a man."

"And he's not a good conversationalist."

"I'm bound to confess I've never heard him say anything clever,"
remarked the Vicar.

"No," smiled the curate; "one could hardly call him a brilliant
epigrammatist."

"I don't think he's well informed."

"Oh, well, you know, one doesn't expect knowledge from army men," said
the curate, with a contemptuous smile and a shrug of the shoulders. "I
must say I was rather amused when he confessed he hadn't read Marie
Corelli."

"I can hardly believe that. I think it was only pose."

"I'm sorry to say that my experience of young officers is that there are
absolutely no boun