Writing his careless rebuke to Helen brought this past unpleasantly
before his mind; he was glad when he had sanded his paper and thrust the
folded letter into its envelope, and could forget once more.

Dick Forsythe had prolonged his call by being very careful what flowers
were picked for his mother, and he and Lois wandered over the whole
garden, searching for the most perfect roses, before he acknowledged that
he was content. When they parted at the iron gate, he was more in love
than ever, and Lois walked back to the rectory, thinking with a vague
dissatisfaction how much she would miss the Forsythes when they left
Ashurst.

But Mr. Forsythe's was not the sort of love which demanded solitude or
silence, so that when he saw Mr. Dale coming from Mr. Denner's little law
office, he made haste to join him. Conversation of any sort, and with any
person, was a necessity to this young man, and Mr. Dale was better than
no one.

"I've just been to the rectory," he said, as he reached the older man's
side.

"I suppose so," Mr. Dale answered shortly. Perhaps he was the only person
in Ashurst who was not blinded by the glamour of that World which Mr.
Forsythe represented, and who realized the nature of the young man
himself. Dick's superficiality was a constant irritation to Mr. Dale, who
missed in him that deference for the opinions of older people which has
its roots in the past, in the training of fathers and mothers in courtesy
and gentleness, and which blossoms in perfection in the third or fourth
generation.