She had listened with eyes cast down, slowly swinging the end of her sunshade over the green grass blades. “I do sympathise with you, Mr. Northcott,” she returned, “but at the same time I scarcely think you ought to expect it, unless it be out of gratitude for your kindness to me.” “Gratitude! It hurts me to hear that word. I am glad, however, that you sympathise, but why ought I not to expect it? Will you tell me?” “Yes, if it is necessary. I cannot pretend to respect your motives for ignoring questions you consider so important, and which occupy your thoughts so much. If your heart is really with the thinkers, and your desire to be in the middle of the fight, why do you rest here in the shade out of it all, explaining old parables to a set of sleepy villagers who do not know that there is a battle, and have never heard of Evolution?” He listened with a flush on his cheeks, and there was trouble mingled with the admiration his eyes expressed; but when she finished speaking he dropped them again. Before he could frame a reply Mrs. Churton joined them, whereupon he shook hands and left them, only remarking to Constance in a low voice, “I shall answer you when we meet again--we do things quietly in Eyethorne.” On their way home Mrs. Churton made a few weak attempts to draw her daughter into conversation, and was evidently curious to know what she had been talking about so confidentially with the curate; but her efforts met with little success and were soon given up. Mr. Churton met them on their arrival at the house. “What, Constance, you too! Well, well, wonders will never cease,” he cried, smiling and holding up his hands with a great affectation of surprise. “Mr. Churton!” exclaimed his wife, rebuke in her look and tones. Then she added, “It would have been better if you had also gone with us.” “My dear, I fully intended going. But there it is, man proposes and--ahem--I stayed talking with a friend until it was past the time. Most unfortunate!” and finishing with a little inconsequent chuckle, he opened the door for them to enter. He was extremely lively and talkative, and Mrs. Churton had some difficulty in keeping him within the bounds of strict Sunday-evening propriety. At supper he became unmanageable. “What was the text this evening, Constance?” he suddenly asked _à propos_ of nothing, and still inclined to make a little joke out of her going to church. “I don't remember--I think it was from one of the prophets,” she returned coldly. “That's interesting to know,” he remarked, “but a little vague--just a little vague. Perhaps Miss Affleck remembers better; she is no doubt a more regular church-goer,” and with a chuckle he looked at her. Fan was distressed at being asked, but Mrs. Churton came almost instantly to her relief. “It is rather unfair to ask her, Nathaniel,” she said, with considerable severity in her voice. “The text was from Exodus--the tenth and eleventh verses of the sixteenth chapter.”