The curtains at the end of the room parted, and revealed a
clergyman, stout but attractive, who hurried forward to take his
place at the table, cheerfully apologizing for his lateness.
Lucy, who had not yet acquired decency, at once rose to her feet,
exclaiming: "Oh, oh! Why, it's Mr. Beebe! Oh, how perfectly
lovely! Oh, Charlotte, we must stop now, however bad the rooms
are. Oh!"

Miss Bartlett said, with more restraint:

"How do you do, Mr. Beebe? I expect that you have forgotten
us: Miss Bartlett and Miss Honeychurch, who were at Tunbridge
Wells when you helped the Vicar of St. Peter's that very cold
Easter."

The clergyman, who had the air of one on a holiday, did not
remember the ladies quite as clearly as they remembered him. But
he came forward pleasantly enough and accepted the chair into
which he was beckoned by Lucy.

"I AM so glad to see you," said the girl, who was in a state of
spiritual starvation, and would have been glad to see the waiter
if her cousin had permitted it. "Just fancy how small the world
is. Summer Street, too, makes it so specially funny."

"Miss Honeychurch lives in the parish of Summer Street," said
Miss Bartlett, filling up the gap, "and she happened to tell me
in the course of conversation that you have just accepted the
living--"