The rector was still admiring her askance, surprised to find that Jack Smith, who was not very handsome himself, had such a cousin, when Daintry roused him abruptly. For some moments she had been gazing at him, as at some unknown specimen, with no attempt to hide her interest. Now she said suddenly, “You are the new rector?” He answered stiffly that he was; being a good deal taken aback at being challenged in this way. Remonstrance, however, was out of the question, and Daintry for the moment said no more, though her gaze lost none of its embarrassing directness. But presently she began again. “I should think the dogs would like you,” she said deliberately, and much as if he had not been there to hear; “you look as if they would.” Silence again. The rector smiled fatuously. What was a beneficed clergyman, whose dignity was young and tender, to do, subjected to the criticism of unknown dogs? He tried to divert his thoughts by considering the pretty sage-green frock and the gray fur cape and hat to match which the elder girl was wearing. Doubtless she was taking the latest fashions down to Claversham, and fur capes and hats, indefinitely and mysteriously multiplying, would listen to him on Sundays from all the nearest pews. And Daintry was silent so long that he thought he had done with her. But no. “Do you think that you will like Claversham?” she asked, with an air of serious curiosity. “I trust I shall,” he said, a flush rising to his cheek. She took a moment to consider the answer conscientiously, and, thinking badly of it, remarked gravely, “I don’t think you will.” This was unbearable. The clergyman, full of a nervous dread lest the next question should be, “Do you think that they will like you at Claversham?” made a great show of resuming his newspaper. Kate, possessed by the same fear, shot an imploring glance at Daintry; but, seeing that the latter had only eyes for the stranger, hoped desperately for the best. Which was very bad. “It must be jolly,” remarked the unconscious tormentor, “to have eight hundred pounds a year, and be a rector!” “Daintry!” Kate cried in horror. “Why, what is the matter?” asked Daintry, turning suddenly to her sister with wide-open eyes. Her look of aggrieved astonishment at once overcame Lindo’s gravity, and he laughed aloud. He was not without a charming sense, still novel enough to be pleasing, that Daintry was right. It was jolly to be a rector and have eight hundred a year!