"I daresay it is some beauty of the village," he said, keeping his temper; "but since you did not see her, it is not worth while talking about it. I asked for mere--curiosity--because it is rare to see so perfect a face." Then he added, after a pause, "You met those other men, I suppose? I hear Charley Landale had a great scholar with him. Who is it, do you know? A known man? or only one of the lesser lights who may represent great scholarship here?" "I never knew we were so ignorant in Waterdale," said Roger, finding it very difficult to master himself, "but I daresay you're right enough," he added, forcing a smile. "I saw Charley Landale with some owl or other, but I did not pay much attention. Scholars don't lie much in my way. I leave all that sort of thing to you, Featherstonhaugh; there may as well be some division of labour, you know." "What will be your share?" said the other, not intending any insult; for indeed, it seemed to him, a man who knew nothing about art and did not care for knowledge, what could be his share of anything worth thinking of? Roger coloured to his hair, and said something that was not pious under his breath. "I'm off," he said. "It is pleasant to know that you entertain so good an opinion of me." And with a wave of his hand he turned away. On the whole Sir Richard had the best of it. Roger went home with an additional sting in his heart: for it was true enough that Featherstonhaugh knew much more than he did, and could take advantage of all he knew, and probably a little more. And he was Mary's betrothed lover, confound him, and yet had noticed _her_! But of that, indeed, who could say anything? Could there be on the face of the earth a clod so heavy, a lout so insensible, as to see her and pass her by without wondering worship? A perfect face! Yes, indeed, it was a perfect face, but not one that would ever smile for Dick Featherstonhaugh. CHAPTER IV. A few days afterwards, Charley Landale and his friend went to the Castle by special invitation to see the old squire's books and antiquities, and himself. "Don't stay talking to the girls; I would as soon keep the Queen waiting for luncheon," said Charley, on the way down-stairs, "as the old squire. He is an old Turk if ever there was one. They dare not say their souls are their own. Even Mary--but of course you don't know anything about Mary?"