hiding a laughing face, drooped over them: only half-hiding: Peter saw the laugh—it was unmistakeable—he was made a joke of—his gallantry, his chivalry were the subject of a jest for a petticoat—for two petticoats—Miss Helstone too was smiling. Moreover, he felt he was seen through, and Peter grew black as a thunder-cloud. When Shirley looked up, a fell eye was fastened on her: Malone, at least, had energy enough to hate: she saw it in his glance.
"Peter is worth a scene, and shall have it, if he likes, one day," she whispered to her friend.
And now—solemn and sombre as to their colour, though bland enough as to their faces—appeared at the dining-room door the three Rectors: they had hitherto been busy in the church, and were now coming to take some little refreshment for the body, ere the march commenced. The large morocco-covered easy chair had been left vacant for Dr. Boultby; he was put into it, and Caroline, obeying the instigations of Shirley, who told her now was the time to play the hostess, hastened to hand to her uncle's vast, revered, and, on the whole, worthy friend, a glass of wine and a plate of macaroons. Boultby's churchwardens, patrons of the Sunday-school both, as he insisted on their being, were already beside him; Mrs. Sykes and the other ladies of his congregation were on his right hand and on his left, expressing their hopes that he was not fatigued, their fears that the day would be too warm
