To think that all these years I've slaved and slaved only to be told such things by a boy as--" Then a very dramatic thing occurred.

The door opened, just as it might in the third act of a play by M.Sardou, and revealed the smiling faces of Mrs.Cole, Miss Amy Trefusis and the Rev.William Jellybrand, Senior Curate of St.James's, Orange Street.
Mr.Jellybrand had arrived, as he very often did, to tea.

He had expressed a desire, as he very often did, to see the "dear children." Mrs.Cole, liking to show her children to visitors, even to such regular and ordinary ones as Mr.Jellybrand, at once was eager to gratify his desire.
"We'll catch them just before their tea," she said happily.
There is an unfortunate tendency on the part of our Press and stage to caricature our curates; this tendency I would willingly avoid.

It should be easy enough to do, as I am writing about Polchester, a town that simply abounds--and also abounded thirty years ago--in curates of the most splendid and manly type.

But, unfortunately, Mr.Jellybrand was not one of these.