"Mr.Carlyon is the curate at Rotherwood, Miss Templeton told us, and just now his father is staying with him." "Oh, Carlyon junior seems always on the premises," replied Malcolm carelessly; "he is a sort of tame cat.

Well, I am off to the Garden of Eden now." But as he stood by his window the nodding roses turned their pink cheeks to him in vain, and wasted their sweetness on the desert air.
"He is always there," he muttered; "one is never free from him.

Perhaps it is her goodness of heart, she is so kind to every one, and he is her clergyman.

Of course it must be that." He frowned and sighed impatiently; but as he turned away he saw the sprays of honeysuckle that he had gathered the previous day lay on the window-sill forgotten and neglected, with all the beautiful creamy blossoms withered and dead..