"
"Do you know that gentleman?" she managed to ask.
"Do I know him--Reverend Raymond Rashleigh? Better than I know myself,
Miss Dane. When I was a little chap in roundabouts they used to take me
to his church every Sunday, and keep me in wriggling torments through a
three-hours' sermon. Yes, I know him, to my sorrow."
"He is a clergyman, then?" Mollie said, slowly.
Mr. Ingelow stared at the odd question.
"I have always labored under that impression, Miss Dane, and so does the
Reverend Mr. Rashleigh himself, I fancy. If you choose, I'll present
him, and then you can cross-question him at your leisure."
"No, no!" cried Mollie, detaining him; "not for the world! I don't wish
to make his acquaintance. See, they are filing off! I fall to your lot,
I suppose."
She took her rejected suitor's arm--somehow, she was growing to like
to be with Hugh Ingelow--and they entered the dining-room together. But
Mollie was still very, very pale, and very unusually quiet.
Her face and neck gleamed against her pink dinner-dress like snow, and
her eyes wandered furtively ever and anon over to the Reverend Mr.
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