That alone should have aroused his suspicions—so David felt now. But at the time he had told nobody a word about the trick, and had passed it over in his own mind as one of the many “habits and ways which were not the habits and ways of young girls in our day.” Their name had indeed been legion as applied to the perjured pretender; that sentence in Mr. Oliver's letter, like the remark about “modern mannerisms,” was fatally appropriate to her. Remained the question, how could those premonitory touches apply to a young lady so cultivated and so superior as the real Miriam Oliver? It was a question which Mr. Teesdale found very difficult to answer; it was a question which was driven to the back of his brain, for the time being, by the return of the superior young lady herself, with Arabella, from the township chapel. David jumped up and hurried out to meet them. Miss Oliver wore a look which he could not read, because it was the look of boredom, with which David was not familiar. He thought she was tired, and offered her his arm. She refused it with politeness and a perfunctory smile. “I'm afraid you've had a very hot walk,” said the old man. “Who preached, Arabella?” “Mr. Appleton. Miss Oliver didn't think——” “Ah! I thought he would!” cried David with enthusiasm. “We're very proud of Mr. Appleton's sermons. It will be interesting to hear how he strikes a young lady——” “She didn't think much of him,” Arabella went on to state with impersonal candour. “Nay, come!” And Mr. Teesdale looked for contradiction to the young lady herself; but though the latter raised her eyebrows at Arabella's way of putting it, she did not mince matters in the least. Perhaps this was one of those ways or habits. “It was better than I expected,” she said, with a small and languid smile. “But didn't you like our minister, Miss Oliver? We all think so highly of him.” “Oh, I am sure he is an excellent man, and what he said seemed extremely well meant; but one has heard all that before, over and over again, and rather better put.” “Ah, at Home, no doubt. Yes; I suppose you would now, in London. However,” added David, throwing up his chin in an attempt to look less snubbed than he felt as they came into the verandah, “as long as you don't regret having gone! That's the main thing—not the sermon. The prayers and the worship are of much more account, and I knew you'd enjoy them. Take this chair, Miss Oliver, and get cooled a bit before you go inside.”