Catherine looked up at him with a quick impulse of liking. What
an eager face it was! Eagerness, indeed, seemed to be the note of
the whole man, of the quick eyes and mouth, the flexible hands and
energetic movements. Even the straight, stubbly hair, its owner's
passing torment, standing up round the high, open brow, seemed to
help the general impression of alertness and vigor.

'Your mother, I hear, is already there?' said Catherine.

'Yes. My poor mother!' and the young man smiled half sadly. 'It
is a curious situation for both of us. This living which has just
been bestowed on me is my father's old living. It is in the gift
of my cousin, Sir Mowbray Elsmere. My great-uncle'--he drew himself
together suddenly. 'But I don't know why I should imagine that
these things interest other people,' he said, with a little quick,
almost comical, accent of self-rebuke.

'Please go on,' cried Catherine hastily. The voice and manner were
singularly pleasant to her; she wished he would not interrupt himself
for nothing.

'Really? Well then, my great-uncle, old Sir William, wished me to
have it when I grew up. I was against it for a long time; took
Orders; but I wanted something more stirring than a country parish.
One has dreams of many things. But one's dreams come to nothing.
I got ill at Oxford. The doctors forbade the town work. The old
incumbent who had held the living since my father's death died
precisely at that moment. I felt myself booked, and gave in to
various friends; but it is second best.'