James.
Enter, consequently, the Rev. Arthur Poppleton,--blushing, a trifle
timorous perhaps, but happy beyond measure to find himself in Miss
Belinda's parlor again, with Miss Belinda's niece.
Perhaps the least possible shade of his joyousness died out when he
caught sight of Mr. Francis Barold, and certainly Mr. Francis Barold was
not at all delighted to see him.
"What does the fellow want?" that gentleman was saying inwardly. "What
does he come simpering and turning pink here for? Why doesn't he go and
see some of his old women, and read tracts to them? That's _his_
business." Octavia's manner toward her visitor formed a fresh
grievance for Barold. She treated the curate very well indeed. She
seemed glad to see him, she was wholly at her ease with him, she made no
trying remarks to him, she never stopped to fix her eyes upon him in
that inexplicable style, and she did not laugh when there seemed nothing
to laugh at. She was so gay and good-humored that the Rev. Arthur
Poppleton beamed and flourished under her treatment, and forgot to
change color, and even ventured to talk a good deal, and make divers
quite presentable little jokes.
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