“I’m sure, my good fellows,” he began, when the tumult had in some degree subsided, and the necessity of returning the compliment by a speech was evidenced by the expectant looks of the bystanders, “I’m sure that my wife is uncommonly obliged to you.” (His _wife_! thought Mrs. Beacham senior, who, having hitherto been considered in the light of “missus” at the Paddocks, had taken the compliment to herself.) “My wife,” repeated John, laying what poor soured Mrs. Beacham considered an insulting stress upon the obnoxious word,--“my wife has, I am sorry to see, retired. She is not very strong, and the journey has knocked her up; but another time--” “At the christening of little master, eh?” cried a shrill voice from the very centre of the crowd; whereupon there was a laugh--one of those rude, coarse, blustering laughs with which untaught human nature, before it has learnt to discriminate between wit and humour, erects the sole form of joke which it is capable of understanding. John looked about him in dismay. It was dreadful to think that Honor--his delicate blushing Honor--should have overheard, and been shocked by, that horrible allusion. For the first time since he had known her it was a relief to find that she was not by his side; he only hoped that she had gone upstairs--to bed--anywhere rather than run the risk of being wounded by such coarse, such premature remarks. “I have been more gratified than I can well express,” John went on to say, and briskly enough this time, for he wished to get the whole thing over, and to have his house to himself, “by the flattering manner in which you have welcomed us home again. I see a great many old friends’ faces among you, and I hope one day to see your wives’ faces--and may you all be as happy as I am! There is plenty of ale, thank God! in the cellar, and as cheering is thirsty work, to say nothing of coming up here against collar this warm day, I hope you’ll all accept a glass apiece, and then go back and set the bells of Switcham Church a-ringing. I’m not much of a hand at a speech, and so, as it’s getting late, and we’re all pretty well tired, I shall wish you a very Good-Night.” He shook hands heartily, after this delicate hint, with those that stood nearest to him, and the crowd, eager to taste the reward of their exertions, caused no further delay by any lengthened expression of applause. In a few minutes all was peaceful outside the south front of the old house. There was no sound save the faint rustling of the wind among the branches, and the last twitter of the birds ere they nestled to their nightly sleep. Only inside was there strife. Not the strife of outward jangling, or of sneering words, but the far more perilous discord that lies hid behind a smiling mask. John’s mother was very civil to Honor, but she could not forgive her for the _slight_ put upon Mrs. Beacham of the Paddocks.