Readily consenting to this division of labor, the Squire went to find Mrs. Jabber and the necessary can, while Dorinda, already possessed of the key, unlocked the great oaken door under the porch. With her arms filled with roses, she entered into the chill twilight of the little fane: chill because the thick walls prevented the summer heat from penetrating into the interior of the building and twilight since the sunshine was more or less baffled by the stained glass of the windows. As the girl passed up the central aisle, round her were the squat Norman pillars, above her loomed the criss-cross rafters of time-darkened oak, and beneath her feet was the storied pavement inlaid with many a quaintly lettered brass plate praising the virtues of the dead in monkish Latin. Before her, under the glorious hues of the east window, rose the altar, draped in white and gold with single and triple silver candlesticks glittering on either side of the tall brass cross. The vases--also silver--were filled with mixed ill-chosen flowers gathered anyhow and arranged anyhow by Mrs. Jabber, whose eye was anything but artistic. After breathing a short prayer, Dorinda, who had left her roses on a convenient seat, took the vases off the altar and out of the church. Having shaken out the flowers, she brought her crimson blooms into the porch and sat down on the side seat to fulfil what was to her a very pleasant duty. Rupert arrived with the can of water, and the information--obtained from Mrs. Jabber--that both Mallien and Carrington had gone home. "I expect your father forgot to deliver my message," said the Squire, setting down the green can and taking a seat opposite to the girl. "It is more likely that my father never intended to give it," replied Dorinda with a shrug. "Why shouldn't he?" "Because it was a reasonable thing to do, and my father is never reasonable, as you know." "Carrington will think me rude." "Not if he can see through a brick wall. And from what you have told me about him, Rupert, I think his eyes are quite keen enough to do so. There is one thing to be said," observed Miss Mallien, rather piqued by the barrister's neglect, "that your friend isn't anxious to see me." "On the contrary, he is very eager," Rupert assured her hastily. "Does his going back to the Big House look like it?" "Ah, I expect he had some delicacy in interrupting our _tête-à-tête_, Dorinda." "There's something in that," replied Miss Mallien, dexterously binding her bunches of roses loosely together, "and his action speaks well for him. Perhaps I shall like him better than I expect to, Rupert." The Squire looked up in astonishment from his task of brimming the altar vases with spring water. "Why shouldn't you like him in any case?"