Messrs. Shoolbred and Messrs. Maple arriving at the door and
depositing this chair, those varnished book-cases, that
writing-table. The table recalled Mrs. Honeychurch's letter. He
did not want to read that letter--his temptations never lay in
that direction; but he worried about it none the less. It was his
own fault that she was discussing him with his mother; he had
wanted her support in his third attempt to win Lucy; he wanted to
feel that others, no matter who they were, agreed with him, and
so he had asked their permission. Mrs. Honeychurch had been
civil, but obtuse in essentials, while as for Freddy--"He is only
a boy," he reflected. "I represent all that he despises. Why
should he want me for a brother-in-law?"

The Honeychurches were a worthy family, but he began to realize
that Lucy was of another clay; and perhaps--he did not put it
very definitely--he ought to introduce her into more congenial
circles as soon as possible.

"Mr. Beebe!" said the maid, and the new rector of Summer Street
was shown in; he had at once started on friendly relations, owing
to Lucy's praise of him in her letters from Florence.

Cecil greeted him rather critically.

"I've come for tea, Mr. Vyse. Do you suppose that I shall get
it?"

"I should say so. Food is the thing one does get here--Don't sit
in that chair; young Honeychurch has left a bone in it."