I'll ask him to dinner
this very day."
Having a sermon to compose, the Doctor sat down to that work, and was so
engaged in the composition, that he had not concluded it until near five
o'clock in the afternoon: when he stepped over to Mr. Smirke's lodgings,
to put his hospitable intentions, regarding that gentleman, into effect.
He reached Madame Fribsby's door, just as the Curate issued from it.
Mr. Smirke was magnificently dressed, and as he turned out his toes, he
showed a pair of elegant open-worked silk stockings and glossy pumps. His
white cravat was arranged in a splendid stiff tie, and his gold shirt
studs shone on his spotless linen. His hair was curled round his fair
temples. Had he borrowed Madame Fribsby's irons to give that curly grace?
His white cambric pocket-handkerchief was scented with the most delicious
eau-de-Cologne.
"O gracilis puer,"--cried the Doctor.--"Whither are you bound? I wanted
you to come home to dinner."
"I am engaged to dine at--at Fairoaks," said Mr. Smirke, blushing faintly
and whisking the scented pocket-handkerchief, and his pony being in
waiting, he mounted and rode away simpering down the street.
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