Explore "The Perpetual Curate" by Margaret Oliphant on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I want to know what all this means about young Wentworth," said Mr. Wodehouse. "He's gone off, it appears, in a hurry, nobody knows where. Well, so they say. To his brother's, is it? I couldn't know that; but look here -- that's not all, nor nearly all -- they say he meets that little Rosa at Elsworthy's every night, and walks home with her, and all that sort of thing. I tell you I don't know -- that's what people say. You ought to understand all the rights of it, you two girls. I confess I thought it was Lucy he was after, for my part -- and a very bad match, too, and one I should never have given my consent to. And then there is another fine talk about some fellow he's got at his house. What's the matter, Molly? -- she looks as if she was going to faint. "
"Oh no," said Miss Wodehouse, faintly; "and I don't believe a word about Rosa Elsworthy," she said, with sudden impetuosity, a minute after. "I am sure Mr. Wentworth could vindicate himself whenever he likes. I daresay the one story is just as true as the other; but then," said the gentle elder sister, turning with anxious looks towards Lucy, "he is proud, as is natural; and I shouldn't think he would enter into explanations if he thought people did not trust him without them. "