John and Lane had met in the churchyard pretty early, and whilst there were friends to greet, and to pass the time of day with, things went smoothly enough. But as the churchgoers filed by ones and twos into the building, each began to be aware of a solitude which was peopled only by the disagreeable presence of the other. John, ostentatiously disregardful of his adversary, planted himself at the gate, so as to be before him in his greeting. Lane, rather unusually erect and martial in his walk, marched past him into the village roadway, and there loitered for the same intent. Thistlewood, recognising the meaning of this manouvre, strolled into the roadway, and doggedly planted himself a yard or two beyond the spot where his rival had halted. Lane, with an air to the full as ostentatiously and offensively dis-regardful as the other’s, marched past Thistlewood with half a dozen soldierly-looking strides, and bringing himself to an abrupt halt made a disdainful back at him. Again Thistlewood advanced, but this time he drew himself up a trifle behind his rival, and laid a finger on his shoulder. ‘Well?’ said Protheroe, without turning his head. ‘I shall want a word with thee by and by, my lad,’ Thistlewood said quietly. ‘Have it now,’ replied Lane, settling his shoulders jauntily. ‘There’s time in plenty afore us,’ Thistlewood answered, regarding him with supreme disfavour. The younger man looked straight before him with an exasperating aspect of indifference. ‘When you like,’ he said. ‘Very well,’ replied Thistlewood. ‘In five minutes’ time from now.’ ‘Church time,’ said Lane smilingly, surveying the landscape. ‘Beest that keen set on the sermon?’ John inquired. ‘Don’t know that I am,’ replied the enemy, rising a little on his toes, and then settling his shoulders anew. ‘Five minutes’ time from now.’ The jaunty airs and scornful disregard began to warm Thistlewood’s blood a little. ‘Canst look a man i’ the face when thee talk’st to him? ‘he asked. ‘Yes, bless your heart and soul alive!’ cried Lane, swaggering round and beaming on him. For half a minute they looked at each other, the one angry, resolute, and lowering, with head bent a little forward, his glance directed upward past his down-drawn brows, the other smiling with seeming sweetness and gaiety. Thistlewood seemed to restrain himself with something of an effort. ‘We’ll talk together by and by,’ he said, and turning, deliberately walked back into the churchyard. For a few seconds Lane stood glorying, but on a sudden it occurred to him that his rival was behaving in a more dignified manner than himself, and this was a reflection not to be endured without instant action. So he marched back into the churchyard also, and left John in the foreground. When Bertha appeared her elder lover paid his respects first, and Lane came up afterwards, looking, as she remembered later on, prodigiously gloomy and resolved.