"I hope you do, sir; but somehow, as I say, you don't get hold of them. Now Pengelly seems to fit what he says to their everyday life, and shows them how to follow the apostles' example in their self-denial and patience. Why, my dear sir, the people here care no more for the early fathers of the Church than--than I do," he added, at a loss for a simile. "Mr Trethick, you surprise me," gasped the vicar, "you pain me." "Do I?" said Geoffrey. "Well, I don't want to do so. Now that man on Sunday night; he took for his text--" "Miss Penwynn, Mr Trethick," said the vicar, rising, "I find--the time--I must say good-morning." "I'm afraid I've been too free-speaking," said Geoffrey, earnestly, as he held out his hand. "It's a bad habit of mine to get warm in argument; and I dare say I've been preaching most heretically." The vicar hesitated for a moment, but Geoffrey's manner disarmed him, and besides, Rhoda was looking on. The result was that he shook hands warmly, and said, with a smile, "Mr Trethick, we must have a few more arguments. I am not beaten yet. Good-morning." "Beaten? no," said Geoffrey. "Good-morning. Miss Penwynn, I'm afraid I've shocked you," he said, merrily, as soon as they were left alone; and as he spoke he could not help admiring the bright, animated face before him; for after the vicar's smooth, flowing speeches that morning, Geoffrey's brisk, sharp way had seemed to her like the racy breeze of the sea, fanning her spirit, and making her very pulses tingle. "Shocked?" she said, eagerly; "I liked the discussion. I do love to hear a man speak as he really feels." "Do you?" said Geoffrey, showing his white teeth. "Well really, Miss Penwynn, if we ever meet much in the future you will invariably hear me speak as I feel. I always did it, and invariably got myself into trouble." "For being honest?" said Rhoda. "Yes, for being honest. We're a strange people, Miss Penwynn. Every one advocates the truth, and straightforwardness, but, as a rule, those two qualities find very little favour." "I'm afraid there is a great deal in what you say," said Rhoda, thoughtfully. "I'm sure there is," exclaimed Geoffrey. "It's a queer world altogether, but I like it all the same." "I hope we all do," replied Rhoda, smiling. "Of course; and we do all like it," said Geoffrey, in an imperious way; "and when next you hear any one, my dear young lady, calling it a vale of tears, and wanting to be somewhere else, you set that person down as an impostor or a fool." Rhoda raised her eyebrows, feeling half-annoyed at his freedom, half amused. "It's a splendid world, and it's half bitters, half sweets." "Indeed?" "Yes, and wisely so. The bitters make us like the sweets. I find old Mr Paul up yonder do me no end of good when I'm put out. He's all bitters." "And Madge Mullion supplies the sweets," thought Rhoda. "Don't you think I ought to have gone into the Church, Miss Penwynn?" said Geoffrey, abruptly. "No. Why?"