indignant he would have been at the suggestion that he was after all
only an idolater, worshiping what he called _The Church_, instead of the
Lord Christ, the heart-inhabiting, world-ruling king of heaven! But he
was a very good sort of idolater, and some of the Christian graces had
filtered through the roofs of the temple upon him--eminently those of
hospitality and general humanity--even uprightness so far as his light
extended; so that he did less to obstruct the religion he thought he
furthered, than some men who preach it as on the house-tops.

It was from policy, not from confidence in Mrs. Ramshorn, that he went
to her first. He liked his curate, and every one knew she hated him. If,
of any thing he did, two interpretations were possible--one good, and
one bad, there was no room for a doubt as to which she would adopt and
publish. Not even to herself, however, did she allow that one chief
cause of her hatred was, that, having all her life been used to a pair
of horses, she had now to put up with only a brougham.

To the brass knocker on her door, the rector applied himself, and sent a
confident announcement of his presence through the house. Almost
instantly the long-faced butler, half undertaker, half parish-clerk,
opened the door; and seeing the rector, drew it wide to the wall,
inviting him to step into the library, as he had no doubt Mrs. Ramshorn
would be at home to _him_. Nor was it long ere she appeared, in rather
youthful morning dress, and gave him a hearty welcome; after which, by
no very wide spirals of descent, the talk swooped presently upon the
curate.

"The fact is," at length said the memorial shadow of the dean deceased,
"Mr. Wingfold is not a gentleman. It grieves me to say so of the husband
of my niece, who has been to me as my own child, but the truth must be