The Vicar showed himself completely disconcerted, and stared at Young George with open eyes and half-open mouth. The boy was cramming himself with bread and butter, and his face was red. With his tangled hair, and clothes that his late exertions had made untidy, he looked a mere child. But there was no mistaking his hostility, nor the awkward fact that here was another obstacle to desired intimacy with this agreeable family. It was so very unexpected. The Vicar had thought himself quite successful, with his hand on his shoulder, and his few kindly words, in impressing himself upon this latest and very youthful member of it as a desirable friend of the family. And behold! he had made an enemy. For Young George's objection to his sisters' visiting with clergymen in general was so obviously intended to be taken as an objection to their visiting with this one. That was made plain by his attitude. Miss Waterhouse solved the awkward situation. "Visiting sick people in the country is not like visiting people in the slums of London, Bunting dear. Mr. Mercer would let us know if there were any danger of infection. It would be better, though, I think, if we were to pay our visits separately." There was to be no doubt about that, at any rate. Miss Waterhouse was hardly less annoyed than Young George at the invitation that had been given, and its impertinence was not to be salved over however much it was to be desired that dislike should not be too openly expressed. Nor did Caroline or Beatrix wish to be made the subject of discussion. They were quite capable of staving off inconvenient advances, and preferred to do it by lighter methods than those used by Young George, and to get some amusement out of it besides. Caroline laughed, and said: "My darling infant, if we get measles or chicken-pox _you_ might catch them too, and then you wouldn't have to go back to school so soon." Young George had made his protest, and it had cost him something to do it. His traditions included politeness towards a guest, and he would only have broken them under strong provocation. So, although he was still feeling a blind hatred against this one, he did not reply that his objection was not influenced by the fear of infectious disease, but mumbled instead that he did not want to miss the first days of the summer half. The Vicar had somewhat recovered himself. His self-conceit made it difficult for him to accept a snub, however directly administered, if it could be made to appear in any way not meant for a snub. "Well, it is true that one has to be a little careful about infection sometimes," he said. "But I know of none anywhere about at present. I have to risk it myself in the course of my duty, but I am always careful about it for others. I had to warn Mollie off certain cottages, when she first came here. She has been such a willing little helper to me since the beginning, and one has to look after one's helpers, you know."