Suddenly the vicar himself appeared, and seemed greatly pleased to see Sylvia and her visitors; she felt a little guilty, because, though she was great friends with Mr. Dorward, she had never been inside the church, nor had he ever hinted he would like her to come. It would seem so unkind for her to come like this for the first time with strangers, as if the church which she knew he deeply loved was nothing but a tea-time entertainment. There was no trace of reproachfulness in his manner, as he showed Miss Horne and Miss Hobart the vestments and a little image of the Virgin in peach-blow glaze that he moved caressingly into the sunlight, as a child might fondle reverently a favorite doll. He spoke of his plans for restoration and unrolled the design of a famous architect, adding with a smile for Sylvia that the lay rector disapproved of it thoroughly. They left him arranging the candlesticks on the altar, a half-pathetic, half-humorous figure that seemed to be playing a solitary game. "And you say nobody goes to his church!" Miss Horne exclaimed. "But he's most polite and charming." "Scarcely anybody goes," Sylvia said. "Emmie," said Miss Horne, standing upright and flashing forth an eagle's glance. "_We_ will attend his service." "That is a very good idea of yours, Adelaide," Miss Hobart replied. Then they got into the governess-car with much determination, and with friendly waves of the hand to Sylvia set out back to Oaktown. When Miss Horne and Miss Hobart had left, Sylvia went up-stairs to have it out with Philip. At this rate there would very soon be a crisis in their married life. She was a little disconcerted by his getting up the moment she entered his room and coming to meet her with an apology. "Dearest Sylvia, you can call me what you will; I shall deserve the worst. I can't understand my behavior this afternoon. I think I must have been working so hard that my nerves are hopelessly jangled. I very nearly followed you into the churchyard to make myself most humbly pleasant, but I saw Dorward go 'round almost immediately afterward, and I could not have met him in the mood I was in without being unpardonably rude." He waited for her with an arm stretched out in reconciliation, but Sylvia hesitated. "It's all very well to hurt my feelings like that because you happened to be feeling in a bad temper," she said, "and then think you've only got to make a pleasant little speech to put everything right again. Besides, it isn't only to-day; it's day after day since we've been married. I feel like Gulliver when he was being tied up by the Lilliputians. I can't find any one big rope that's destroying my freedom, but somehow or other my freedom is being destroyed. Did you marry me casually, as people buy birds, to put me in a cage?" "My dear, I married you because I loved you. You know I fought against the idea of marrying you for a long time, but I loved you too much."