understood it all as though there were some secret sign or shibboleth between them; but the outsiders had no complaint to make of arrogance, and did not feel themselves aggrieved.  They hardly knew that there was an inner clerical familiarity to which they were not admitted.  But now that there was a young curate from the outer circle demanding Mr. Clavering’s daughter in marriage, and that without a shilling in his pocket, Mr. Clavering felt that the eyes of the offender must be opened.  The nuisance to him was very great, but this opening of Mr. Saul’s eyes was a duty from which he could not shrink.

He got up when the curate entered, and greeted his curate, as though he were unaware of the purpose of the present visit.  The whole burden of the story was to be thrown upon Mr. Saul.  But that gentleman was not long in casting the burden from his shoulders.

“Mr. Clavering,” he said, “I have come to ask your permission to be a suitor for your daughter’s hand.”

The rector was almost taken aback by the abruptness of the request.  “Quite impossible, Mr. Saul,” he said; “quite impossible.  I am told by Mrs. Clavering that you were speaking to Fanny again about this yesterday, and I must say that I think you have been behaving very badly.”

“In what way have I behaved badly?”

“In endeavoring to gain her affections behind my back.”

“But, Mr. Clavering, how otherwise could I gain them?  How otherwise does any man gain any woman’s love?  If you mean—­”

“Look here, Mr. Saul.  I don’t think that there is any necessity for an argument between you and me on this point.  That you cannot marry Miss Clavering is so self-evident that it does not require to be discussed.  If there were nothing else against it, neither of you have got a penny.  I have not seen my daughter since I heard of this madness—­hear me out if you please, sir—­since I heard of this madness, but her mother tells me that she is quite aware of that fact.  Your coming to me with such a proposition is an absurdity if it is nothing worse.  Now you must do one of two things, Mr. Saul.  You must either promise me that this shall be at an end altogether, or you must leave the parish.”

“I certainly shall not promise you that my hopes as they regard your daughter will be at an end.”

“Then, Mr. Saul, the sooner you go the better.”

A dark cloud came across Mr. Saul’s brow as he heard these last words.  “That is the way in which you would send away your groom, if he had offended you,” he said.

“I do not wish to be unnecessarily harsh,” said Mr. Clavering, “and what I say to you now I say to you not as my curate, but as to a most unwarranted suitor for my daughter’s hand.  Of course I cannot turn you out of the parish at a day’s notice.  I know that well enough.  But your feelings as a gentleman ought to make you aware that you should go at once.”

“And that is to be my only answer?”