Not that the young gentleman looks particularly deli-
cate, either, and he tells me that he's a very good
appetite and that his doctor says he's to live well
and to eat as much as ever he can."

Copplestone got a view of his fellow-visitor that
afternoon in the hall of the inn, and agreed with the
landlady that he showed no evident signs of delicacy
of health. He was a good type of the conventional
curate, with a rather pale, good-humoured face set
between his round collar and wide brimmed hat, and
he glanced at Copplestone with friendly curiosity
and something of a question in his eyes. And Copple-
stone, out of good neighbourliness, stopped and spoke
to him.
"Mrs. Wooler tells me you're come here to pick
up," he remarked. "Pretty strong air round this
quarter of the globe !"

' ' Oh, that 's all right ! ' ' said the new arrival. ' ' The
air of Scarhaven will do me good — it's full of just
what I want." He gave Copplestone another look
and then glanced at the letters which he held in his
hand. "Are you going to the post-office?" he asked.
"May I comet — I want to go there, too."

The two young men walked out of the inn, and
Copplestone led the way down the road towards the



THE INVALID CURATE 105

northern quay. And once they were well out of ear-
shot of the "Admiral's Arms," and the two or three
men who lounged near the wall in front of it, the
curate turned to his companion with a sly look.
"Of course you're Mr. Copplestone t" he remarked.
