Mrs. Venables, a stout but comely lady, with a bright brown eye, and a
face full of character and ability, opened fire upon the vicar as soon
as they had shaken hands, while her daughter looked wistfully at the
nearest books.

"He is married!" cried Mrs. Venables, beginning in the middle like a
modern novelist.

"Indeed?" returned the matter-of-fact clergyman, with equal
directness--"and who is he?"

"Your neighbor and your patron--Mr. Steel!"

"Married?" repeated Mrs. Woodgate, with tremendous emphasis. "Mr.
Steel?"

"This is news!" declared her husband, as though he had expected none
worthy of the name. And they both demanded further particulars, at which
Mrs. Venables shook her expensive bonnet with great relish.

"Do you know Mr. Steel so well--so much better than we do--and can you
ask for particulars about anything he ever does? His marriage,"
continued Mrs. Venables, "like everything else about him, is 'wrop in
mystery,' as one of those vulgar creatures says in Dickens, but I really
forget which. It was never announced in the _Times_; for that I can
vouch myself. Was ever anything more like him, or less like anybody
else? To disappear for six months, and then turn up with a wife!"

"But has he turned up?" cried the vicar's young wife, forgetting for a