John was not convinced, though he was a little discouraged, by Mrs. Egerton’s speech. To say that none of his people _belonged_ there when the two, the only two who had trained and loved him, were lying side by side, unalterable inhabitants; and when all the associations of his boyhood, all he knew of home, was in this place! He was a little aggrieved, wounded and troubled by that phrase. They had always been so kind. It had never been made known to him in any way that he did not belong--that is, that he was not one of the known and accredited families who alone were on the same level as the Spencers. He knew indeed that he was not on the same level with them--he could remember, now he thought of it, the gratitude of his grandparents and their gratification at his adoption into the circle of the rectory. And there was nothing unkind in what Mrs. Egerton had said; perhaps she meant nothing at all; and, if she did mean anything, it was the kindest, mildest suggestion that he had perhaps no particular right to assume a place as one of the village aristocracy. If she did mean that, John said to himself that he was not going to be discouraged by such a small matter. He was not, as a point of fact, connected with any great family like the Spencers. He was perhaps nobody, going to be the architect of his own fortunes; but why should he have less love for the scene of his early associations because of that? He went away a little earlier than he might otherwise have done, after the luncheon to which Mr. Cattley came with Percy, though he had said he should not. It was a very pleasant luncheon; nothing could have been brighter than the table, and the looks of the two ladies at least. There was a little too much clerical talk, talk about the parish; but then perhaps that was natural in a clerical house, and under the stimulus of a brand-new curate, just in harness, and much enamoured of his new position and power.