The Manse garden was on the slope of the hillside, but the Manse itself was tucked in below, in what was supposed to be a sheltered position, out of the way of all sunshine, or other impertinent invasions. It surprised Mr. Rowland to see several pony carriages about, and to hear a noise of talk coming out into the garden all perfumed with sweetpeas and roses. He looked at the minister with an inquiring air. “Oh, I don’t call this society,” said Mr. Dean, “though perhaps you will be of a different opinion,” he added. He was a little supercilious in his tone to the railway man, who was a rich person and no more; not that the minister had any inclination to break any tie that might be formed with “the House.” He was not himself fond of tea parties, and his expression had made it plain that dinners were chiefly to be found, if anywhere, at Rosmore. “I have inveigled Mr. Rowland in for a cup of tea. I did not know you had guests.” “Dear me, Henry!” said Mrs. Dean; “of course you knew. It’s my day: everybody in the parish knows, if you don’t. But I am very glad to see Mr. Rowland; he has just come at the very nick of time. I was saying to Mrs. Wedderburn, so much depends on who is at the House.” “It is just the centre of everything,” said a fat lady who was thus referred to. She gave Mr. Rowland a little bow, half rising from her chair. “We all defer to the House,” she added with an ingratiating smile to which Rowland answered as best he could with a bow which was as deferential as hers was condescending. There were a dozen of people or more in the room, which was not very large, and hot with the fumes of tea. There were two or three matronly persons like Mrs. Wedderburn, and a few who were younger, and two men who were making themselves useful and handing the tea and the cake. There were also some queerly dressed, middle-aged ladies, of the class to which Scotch society owes so much, the rural single woman, individual and strong-minded: and there were some with a great air of fashion and the consciousness of fine clothes. These last Rowland set down, and justly, as sea-bathers from Kilrossie. One of the others was the minister’s wife from the next parish, also unmistakeable. His name caused a little rustle of interest among them, as he made his bow all round. “I’m sure you’re very welcome among us,” said another lady rising up from the window where she sat. “Since we cannot have our dear Lady Jean, we’re well content to have a tenant that is creditable and a well-known name. You are just new from India, and our climate will be a great change to ye, at least for the first.” “Oh, I am well accustomed to the climate,” said Rowland. “I don’t think that will trouble me much.” “You’re really then a west-country man to begin with? so we’ve heard; but Mrs. Rowland, I’m afraid, will not be so used to it. Nor perhaps your young folk. You’ll think me bold,” added his interrogator, “but we hear there are young folk?”