One evening, in the middle of August, John and Charlie got home before Mr. de Courcy had left. The epidemic among the sheep was nearly over now, and consequently they were not detained so late as they had been for the last month. Both the shepherd and his son were astonished to see this grand French gentleman seated on a little wooden stool at Fairy’s feet, quite at home, and apparently on intimate terms with her and Mrs. Shelley, for they were all three laughing merrily at Mrs. Shelley’s attempts at French when the shepherds arrived. “Why, here is John! This is my friend, Mr. de Courcy—Mr. de Courcy, this is John, and this is my foster-brother,” said Fairy, inwardly feeling very much ashamed of the latter, who, to her annoyance, only pulled his forelock, and was too shy to say a word. Rex jumped up, no less astonished at the apparition of these two shepherds in their smock frocks, with their crooks in their hands, than they were at the sight of him, and then, having executed one or two of his French bows, he entered into a conversation with John Shelley about his sheep as easily as he would have discussed art or literature with people in his own rank of life. And if Fairy felt ashamed of Charlie with his clump shoes, his dirty hands, his Sussex brogue, and his uncouth, clownish manners, she was rather proud than otherwise of John Shelley, who, with his hat in his hand, stood there with a gentle dignity all his own, talking simply of his sheep, with an honest pride in his position as head shepherd of the largest sheep-farmer in the district that was as naive as it was touching. But as Rex walked back to Oafham that evening it was with a weight on his mind that he saw no chance of removing. Hitherto he had only pictured to himself an ideal pastoral shepherd as Fairy’s foster-father, and though John Shelley might have sat to an artist as a patriarchal shepherd, there was nothing ideal or poetical about Charlie: a more realistic clod-hopping youth it would be hard to meet with, even in the South Downs. And this was Fairy’s foster-brother! Just imagine his mother’s face or Lady Oafham’s if they were introduced to Charlie as the foster-brother of Rex’s future wife. Such a thought was so appalling that it actually prevented Rex from paying his accustomed visit the next day, though he was miserable, and so afraid he might have offended Fairy by his absence, that after a sleepless night and a very impatient morning, he presented himself at the shepherd’s house the next day as usual. “Why didn’t you come yesterday?” were Fairy’s first words. “My dear Fairy, we can’t expect Mr. de Courcy to honour us with a visit every day,” said Mrs. Shelley, reprovingly. “Did you miss me? If I only dared to think you did!” said Rex, in French. “Never mind that; I want to know why you did not come yesterday. Come, confess my foster-brother frightened you away now, didn’t he?” said Fairy, in the same language.