In brief, without ever having heard of the term, he was an agnostic, but not
one of the self-complacent, superior type who fancy that they have developed
themselves beyond the trammels of faith and are ever ready to make the world
aware of their progress.

At last he recognized that his long reverie was leading to despondency and
weakness; he rose, shook himself half angrily, and strode toward the house.
"I'm here, and here I'm going to stay," he growled. "As long as I'm on my own
land, it's nobody's business what I am or how I feel. If I can't get decent,
sensible women help, I'll close up my dairy and live here alone. I certainly
can make enough to support myself."

Jane met him with a summons to dinner, looking apprehensively at his stern,
gloomy face. Mrs. Mumpson did not appear. "Call her," he said curtly.

The literal Jane returned from the parlor and said unsympathetically, "She's
got a hank'chif to her eyes and says she don't want no dinner."

"Very well," he replied, much relieved.

Apparently he did not want much dinner, either, for he soon started out again.
Mrs. Wiggins was not utterly wanting in the intuitions of her sex, and said
nothing to break in upon her master's abstraction.

In the afternoon Holcroft visited every nook and corner of his farm, laying
out, he hoped, so much occupation for both hands and thoughts as to render him
proof against domestic tribulations.

He had not been gone long before Mrs. Mumpson called in a plaintive voice,
"Jane!"