“That is a most touching construction on your head, Alice, and _not_ unbecoming. Have yourself painted for the next Academy, ‘Lady in a Bonnet.’” “How ridiculous! Fancy _me_ in the Royal Academy!” “Why not? Are you above it, like the old lady who said ‘she would not mind being painted for the Academy, but would wait till she went to Rome and have herself done by one of _the old masters_.’” “I believe you spend your time making up these stories, Geoffrey. Here we are--now hand me down nicely; don’t haul me out as you generally do.” “You want to show off your new boots; I know your vanity,” he retorted as he sprang out. The church being central was fuller than most country churches, and attended by many of the county families. As the Monkswood party walked up the aisle every eye was turned on them with unconcealed curiosity. With Lady Fairfax’s appearance all were familiar, but which of these two young men was the roving husband? “The elder of the two, of course; he was dark and bronzed, and looked like a soldier; the other was a youth.” N.B.--Geoffrey, although three-and-twenty, looked about nineteen. The Fairfaxes formed a topic of discourse at many a luncheon-table that day. “Did you see Lady Fairfax in church, and her husband?” said one young lady. “How do you know which was her husband, or if he was there at all?” replied her mother, who, with bonnet-strings thrown back, was making an ample meal. “I don’t believe he has come back one bit.” “Oh, but he has,” persisted her daughter; “their coachman told Brown; he arrived last Monday, and that was him sitting next the door.” “Pray how do you know?” “Because he found the hymns for her, and gave her a hassock.” “Weighty reasons certainly. It is much more likely, from what you say, that he is _not_ her husband. You never see your father finding my place or giving me a footstool,” returned the old lady, as she tossed off a glass of sherry and looked round as much as to say, “This argument is a clincher.” “Well, but when the offertory-bag came round I saw her get very red, as if she had forgotten her purse, and he slipped a sovereign into her hand.” “And that’s conclusive, you think?” said her mother. “Pray may I inquire how you saw all this byplay?” asked her brother. “I was sitting right behind them, and made good use of my eyes, as usual--that’s all.” “Well,” responded the youth, pushing away his plate, “I don’t care who he is, but I should like to know who his tailor is. He was uncommonly well got up. I never saw a better-built coat,” he added with fervour. “I expect the block had something to say to it. It might not look so well on shoulders like a champagne-bottle,” returned his sister, looking at him amiably. Leaving them to the impending battle, we return to Monkswood, and find our friends also at luncheon. “What disgraceful singing! I never heard a less unanimous choir; everyone for himself it seemed to me, time and tune being quite beneath notice,” remarked Geoffrey.