She came a little nearer, and almost timidly laid her hand on his knee.

Then she looked in his face.

"I am not going to leave you," she said.
"God bless my soul! What do you mean, child?
Is anything wrong?
You don't look quite yourself.

Has that young scoundrel--if I thought--" the Rector got up.

His face was red, he clenched his hand in no clerical style.
Beatrice also rose to her feet.
"He is not a scoundrel," she said.