'
'Wilmet!' exclaimed Felix; then bethinking himself. 'Was _that_ what
Tom Underwood meant? But you will not trouble yourself about such
rubbish.'
'Well, you see,' began the Curate, with heightening colour, 'it can't
be denied that your sister _has_ grown up, and that things are
changed.'
'Mrs. Froggatt _did_ ask me if you were going on here,' said Felix,
still unconvinced; 'but can't we leave people to be _stoopid_ without
interfering with us?'
'Felix, you ought to be a better protector to your sisters. You would
not like to have my Lady remonstrating--nay, maybe writing to my
mother: she is quite capable of it.'
Felix's cheeks were in a flame. 'If people would mind their own
business,' he said; 'but if they _will_ have it so--'
'They are right, Felix,' said the Curate quietly; 'appearances must
be carefully heeded, and by you almost more than by any one. Your
slowness to understand me makes me almost doubtful about my further
design.'
'Not going away altogether!'
'Not immediately; but things stand thus--Dr. White, my old tutor, you
know, and Fernan's, is nearly sure of the new Bishopric in Australia,
and he wants me.
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