"Women have never liked me. I don't know why. I can't help it if I'm not exactly--plain, I'm as God made me." James thought that the Almighty in that case must have an unexpected familiarity with the rouge-pot and the powder-puff. "Do you know that I did all I could to prevent your engagement to Mary?" "You!" cried James, thunderstruck. "I never knew that." "I thought I had better tell you myself. You mustn't be angry with me. It was for your own good. If I had had my way you would never have become engaged. I thought you were so much too young." "Five years ago, d'you mean--when it first happened?" "You were only a boy--a very nice boy, Jamie. I always liked you. I don't approve of long engagements, and I thought you'd change your mind. Most young men are a little wild; it's right that they should be." James looked at her, wondering suddenly whether she knew or divined anything. It was impossible, she was too silly. "You're very wise." "Oh, don't say that!" cried Mrs. Clibborn, with a positive groan. "It sounds so middle-aged.... I always thought Mary was too old for you. A woman should be ten years younger than her husband." "Tell me all about it," insisted James. "They wouldn't listen to me. They said you had better be engaged. They thought it would benefit your morals. I was very much against it. I think boys are so much nicer when they haven't got encumbrances--or morals." At that moment Mary came in. "I can't find your glasses, mamma." "Oh, it doesn't matter," replied Mrs. Clibborn, smiling softly; "I've just remembered that I sent them into Tunbridge Wells yesterday to be mended." VIII James knew he would see Mary at the tea-party which Mrs. Jackson that afternoon was giving at the Vicarage. Society in Little Primpton was exclusive, with the result that the same people met each other day after day, and the only intruders were occasional visitors of irreproachable antecedents from Tunbridge Wells. Respectability is a plant which in that fashionable watering-place has been so assiduously cultivated that it flourishes now in the open air; like the yellow gorse, it is found in every corner, thriving hardily under the most unfavourable conditions; and the keener the wind, the harder the frost, the more proudly does it hold its head. But on this particular day the gathering was confined to the immediate neighbours, and when the Parsons arrived they found, beside their hosts, only the Clibborns and the inevitable curate. There was a prolonged shaking of hands, inquiries concerning the health of all present, and observations suggested by the weather; then they sat down in a circle, and set themselves to discuss the questions of the day. "Oh, Mr. Dryland," cried Mary, "thanks so much for that book! I am enjoying it!" "I thought you'd like it," replied the curate, smiling blandly. "I know you share my admiration for Miss Corelli."