About a week after that there was a fine dinner given at the vicarage to welcome the curate into the family.  The old squire was invited, but he refused to come.  Violetta’s mamma wrote and asked some of her relatives to come down from town.  ‘Our chosen son-in-law is not rich,’ she wrote, ’but he comes of an old family, and that is a great thing.  Dear Violetta will, of course, inherit my own fortune, which will be ample for them, and his good connections, with God’s blessing, will complete their happiness.’  So they came down.  There was the vicar’s brother, who was a barrister, and his wife.  Then there were two sisters of Mrs. Moore, who were both very rich.  One was an old maid, and one was married to a dean—­she brought her husband.  ‘You see,’ said Violetta’s mamma to the curate, ‘our relatives are all either law or clergy.’

There were very grand preparations made for the dinner, and Mrs. Higgs, the wife of the verger, came to the curate’s rooms the day before and took away his best clothes, that she might see they were well brushed for the occasion.  She did up his collar and wristbands herself, and gave them a fine gloss.  Higgs brought them back just in time for the dinner.

’It’s just about five years since they had such a turn-out at the vicarage,’ said Higgs in a crisp little voice.  ’Miss Violetta was nineteen then; she’ll be twenty-four now.’

‘Yes,’ said the curate absently; ‘what was up then?’

’’Twas a dinner much of a muchness to this.  Mrs. Higgs, she was just reminding me of it.  But that was in honour of Mr. Herbert, of the ’All.  You’ll ‘ave heard of him?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the curate, ‘all that was very sad.’

‘The more so,’ said Higgs briskly, ’that when it was broke hoff, Mr. Herbert died of love.  He went to some foreign countries and took up with low company, and there he died.  Squire hasn’t held his head up straight since that day.’

‘All that was before I came,’ said the curate very gravely, for he did not know exactly what to say.

‘Lor’ bless you, sir,’ said Higgs, ’I was in no way blaming you.  There’s no blame attaching to any, that I know; squire’s wife was as mad as a hare.  Miss Violetta, she cried her pretty eyes nigh out for Mr. Herbert; it’s time she’d another.’

The curate went to the dinner, and it was a very fine affair indeed.  Violetta wore a silk gown and looked charming.  She does not look a day older than she did when I saw her five years ago,’ said the dean to the curate, meaning to be very polite, but the curate did not smile at the compliment.

‘How fine your flowers are!’ said the maiden aunt to Violetta.  ’Where did you get them, my dear?’

‘The squire sent them to me,’ said Violetta, with a droop of her eyelids which made her look more charming than ever.  Then they had dinner, and after dinner Violetta gave them some music.  It was sacred music, for Mrs. Moore did not care for anything else.