is not often that we get news of the real world from him!"

"Birds of a feather," remarked her caller: "it was Mr. Steel himself who
wrote to your other eccentric friend, and told him neither more nor less
than I have told you. He was married in Italy last autumn; not even the
town--not even the month--let alone the lady's name--if, indeed--"

And Mrs. Venables concluded with a sufficiently eloquent hiatus.

"I imagine she is a lady," said the vicar to his tea.

"You are so charitable, dear Mr. Woodgate!"

"I hope I am," he said simply. "In this case I see no reason to be
anything else."

"What--when you know really nothing about Mr. Steel himself?"

And the bright brown eyes of Mrs. Venables grew smaller and harder as
they pinned Hugh Woodgate to his chair.

"I beg your pardon," said that downright person; "I know a great deal
about Mr. Steel. He has done an immense amount for the parish; there
are our new schoolrooms to speak for themselves. There are very few who
would do the half of what Mr. Steel has done for us during the short
time he has been at Normanthorpe."

"That may be," said the lady, with the ample smile of conscious
condescension; "for he has certainly not omitted to let his light shine
before men. But that is not telling us who or what he was before he came