Which, by the way, serves to show how very little the Rector
of Stagholme knew of the world.
"But," protested Mrs. Agar, "they have _not_ settled it between
themselves. That is just it."
"Just what?"
"Just the difficulty."
Immediately Mr. Glynde's face fell to its usual degree of set depression.
"What do they want me to do?" he inquired, with that air of resignation
which is in reality no resignation at all.
"Well," said Mrs. Agar volubly, "it appears that Arthur spoke to Dora at
Hurlingham, and for some reason she said No. I can't understand it at
all. I am sure she has always appeared to like him very much. It may have
been some passing fancy or something, you know. When she is told that it
would please us all, perhaps she will change her mind. Poor Arthur is
terribly cut up about it. Of course a man in his position does not quite
expect to be treated cavalierly like that."
Mr. Glynde smiled. Behind the parson there was somewhat even better;
there was a just and honest English gentleman, which, in the way of human
species, is very hard to beat.
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