The vicar slowly descended to tackle his spouse, who seemed to have established herself for the morning in his sanctum, though the parish accounts were clamoring to be done, and this morning in the week belonged to them by immemorial usage.
But Mrs.Thornburgh was unmanageable.

She sat opposite to him with one hand on each knee, solemnly demanding of him if _he_ knew what was to be done with young women nowadays, because _she_ didn't.
The tormented vicar declined to be drawn into so illimitable a subject, recommended patience, declared that it might all be a mistake, and tried hard to absorb himself in the consideration of _2s.8d.plus 2s.

11d.
minus 9d_.
'And I suppose, William,' said his wife to hint at last, with withering sarcasm, 'that you'd sit by and see Catherine break that young man's heart, and send him back to big mother no better than he came here, in spite of all the beef-tea and jelly Sarah and I have been putting into him, and never lift a finger; you'd see his life _blasted_ and you'd do nothing--nothing, I suppose.' And she fixed him with a fiercely interrogative eye.
'Of course,' cried the vicar, roused; 'I should think so.

What good did an outsider ever get by meddling in a love affair?
Take care of yourself, Emma.

If the girl doesn't care for him, you can't make her.' The vicar's wife rose the upturned corners of her mouth saying unutterable things.
'Doesn't care for him!' she echoed, in a tone which implied that her husband's headpiece was past praying for.
'Yes, doesn't care for him!' said the vicar, nettled.