“I suppose we’ll stop here, sir,” said the postilion, as he pulled up his horses short at the church-door, in the midst of the people who were congregated together ready for the service. But Mark had not anticipated being so late, and said at first that it was necessary that he should go on to the house; then, when the horses had again begun to move, he remembered that he could send for his gown, and as he got out of the carriage he gave his orders accordingly. And now the other two carriages were there, and so there was a noise and confusion at the door—very unseemly, as Mark felt it; and the gentlemen spoke in loud voices, and Mrs. Harold Smith declared that she had no prayer-book, and was much too tired to go in at present;—she would go home and rest herself, she said. And two other ladies of the party did so also, leaving Miss Dunstable to go alone;—for which, however, she did not care one button. And then one of the party, who had a nasty habit of swearing, cursed at something as he walked in close to Mark’s elbow; and so they made their way up the church as the absolution was being read, and Mark Robarts felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. If his rising in the world brought him in contact with such things as these, would it not be better for him that he should do without rising? His sermon went off without any special notice. Mrs. Harold Smith was not there, much to his satisfaction; and the others who were did not seem to pay any special attention to it. The subject had lost its novelty, except with the ordinary church congregation, the farmers and labourers of the parish; and the “quality” in the squire’s great pew were content to show their sympathy by a moderate subscription. Miss Dunstable, however, gave a ten-pound note, which swelled up the sum total to a respectable amount—for such a place as Chaldicotes. “And now I hope I may never hear another word about New Guinea,” said Mr. Sowerby, as they all clustered round the drawing-room fire after church. “That subject may be regarded as having been killed and buried; eh, Harold?” “Certainly murdered last night,” said Mrs. Harold, “by that awful woman, Mrs. Proudie.” “I wonder you did not make a dash at her and pull her out of the arm-chair,” said Miss Dunstable. “I was expecting it, and thought that I should come to grief in the scrimmage.” “I never knew a lady do such a brazen-faced thing before,” said Miss Kerrigy, a travelling friend of Miss Dunstable’s. “Nor I—never; in a public place, too,” said Dr. Easyman, a medical gentleman, who also often accompanied her. “As for brass,” said Mr. Supplehouse, “she would never stop at anything for want of that. It is well that she has enough, for the poor bishop is but badly provided.” “I hardly heard what it was she did say,” said Harold Smith; “so I could not answer her, you know. Something about Sundays, I believe.” “She hoped you would not put the South Sea islanders up to Sabbath travelling,” said Mr. Sowerby.