The young curate looked rather
nervous and discomposed, but Malcolm was quite calm.
"As I am leaving Staplegrove to-morrow," he said quietly, "I am glad
to have this opportunity of offering my congratulations and bidding
you good-bye." The lie came glibly to his lips. Glad, when he would
have gone a dozen miles to avoid his rival--his successful rival!
Nevertheless--such hypocrites are the best of men--the words flowed
smoothly from his lips.
"Thanks awfully," replied David, prodding the dust with his stick.
"Are you going up to the Wood House now? I think--that is, I am sure
the ladies are out;" which was certainly the fact, as he had just
seen them driving in the direction of Earlsfield.
"No, not this afternoon, I think," replied Malcolm.
"Well, good-bye, I am a bit pressed for time;" and then the young
men shook hands, and David's grip was almost painful.
"Poor beggar!" he muttered to himself as he turned away; but Malcolm
could not give expression, if he tried, to those bitter thoughts of
his.
"David Carlyon her husband--the husband of Elizabeth Templeton--why,
the very birds knew how to mate more fitly!" he thought.
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