you call innocent. Mr. Blackthorne cannot make up his mind about
me. One day I appear to him to be Catholic, the next Comtist, the
next Orthodox Greek, the next a convert to the Anglican communion.
I am a mystery, you see! And mysteries are as indispensable in life
as in a romance."

He laughed. Mrs. Courtenay laughed too, and a little friendly
banter was carried on between them, while the curate stood by
feeling rather out of it.

I drew nearer to him, perceiving that my prospects bid fair to
improve. For very few people can feel out of it without drifting
into a self-regarding mood, and then they are the easiest prey
imaginable. Undoubtedly a man like Zaluski, with his easy
nonchalance, his knowledge of the world, his genuine good-nature,
and the background of sterling qualities which came upon you as a
surprise because he loved to make himself seem a mere idler, was apt
to eclipse an ordinary mortal like James Blackthorne. The curate
perceived this and did not like to be eclipsed--as a matter of fact,
nobody does. It seemed to him a little unfair that he, who had
hitherto been made much of, should be called to play second fiddle
to this rich Polish fellow who had never done anything for Muddleton
or the neighbourhood. And then, too, Sigismund Zaluski had a way of
poking fun at him which he resented, and would not take in good
part.

Something of this began to stir in his mind; and he cordially hated
the Pole when Jim Courtenay, who arranged the tennis, came up and
asked him to play in the next set, passing the curate by altogether.