When they entered the Assembly Room it was already well filled, the main concourse being about the two stalls at the end of the room over which the archdeacon’s wife and Mrs. Hammond respectively ruled. Here the great people were mainly to be seen; and an acute observer would soon have discovered that between those who habitually hung about this end and those who surrounded the four lower stalls there was a great gulf fixed. Those on the one side of this examined the dresses of those on the other with indulgent interest, and, for the most part, through double eyeglasses; while those on the other hand either returned the compliment and made careful notes, or looked about deferentially for a glance of recognition. The man who should have bridged that gulf, who should have been equally at home with Mrs. Archdeacon and the hotel-keeper’s wife, was the rector. But as the rector had entered, the unlucky word “writ” had caught his ears, and he was in his most unpleasant humor. He felt that the whole room was talking of him—the majority with a narrow dislike, a few with sympathy. Was it unnatural that, forgetting his situation, he should throw in his lot with his friends, who were ever so much the pleasanter, the wittier, the more amusing, and present a smiling front of defiance to his opponents or those whom he thought to be such? At any rate, that was what he was doing, and no one could remark the carriage of his head or the direction of his eyes without feeling that there was something in the town complaint that the new clergyman was above his work. Jack and his party did not at once come across him. They found enough to amuse them at the lower end of the room—the more as to the barrister the great and little with whom he rubbed shoulders were all one. Strange to say, he did not discern any great difference even in their dress! With Daintry hanging on his arm and Kate at his side he was content, until, turning suddenly in the thick of the crowd to speak to the elder girl, he saw her face turn crimson. At the same moment she bowed slightly to some one behind him. He looked round quickly, with a sharp jealous pang at his heart, to see who had called forth this show of emotion, and found himself face to face with the rector. Lindo had looked forward to this meeting; he had prepared himself for it; and yet, occurring in this way, it shook him out of his self-possession. He colored almost as deeply as the girl had, and, though he held out his hand with scarcely a perceptible pause, the action was nervous and jerky. “By Jove! is it you, Jack?” he exclaimed, his tone a mixture of old cordiality and new antagonism. “How do you do, Miss Bonamy?” and he held out his hand to the girl also, who just touched it with her fingers and drew back. “It is pleasant to see your cousin’s face again,” he went on more glibly, yet clearly not at his ease even now. “I was sorry that I was not in last night when he called.”