spontaneous, inconsequent talk--like Jack; and yet with a vast
difference. Hers was not a wholly happy temperament, Howard
thought; she seemed oppressed by a sense of duty, and he could not
help feeling that she needed some sort of outlet. Neither the Vicar
nor Jack were people who stood in need of sympathy or affection. He
felt that they did not quite understand the drift of the girl's
mind, which seemed clear enough to him. And yet there fell on him,
for all his happiness, a certain dissatisfaction. He would have
liked to feel less elderly, less paternal; and the girl's frank
confidence in him, treating him as she might have treated an uncle
or an elder brother, was at once delightful and disconcerting. The
day began to decline as they walked, and the light faded to a
sombre bleakness. Howard went back to the Vicarage with her, and,
at her urgent request, went in to tea. They found the Vicar and Dr.
Grierson already established. Mrs. Darby was quite comfortable, and
no danger was apprehended. The Vicar's diagnosis had been right,
and his precautions perfect. "I could not have done better myself!"
said Dr. Grierson, a kindly, bluff Scotchman. Howard became aware
that the Vicar must have told the Doctor the news about his
inheritance, and was subtly flattered at being treated by him with
the empressement reserved for squires. Jack came in--he had been
shooting all afternoon--and told Howard he was improving. "I shall
catch you up," he said. He seemed frankly amused at the idea of
Howard having spent the afternoon with Maud. "You have got the
whole family on your back, it seems," he said. Maud was silent, but
in her heightened colour and sparkling eye Howard discerned a touch
of happiness, and he enjoyed the quiet attention she gave to his
needs. The Vicar seemed sorry that they had not made a closer
inspection of the village. "But you were right to begin with a
general coup d'oeil," he said; "the whole before the parts! First