Suddenly she became aware of a momentary pause in the even flow of the clergyman’s eloquence, and waking from her reverie, glanced up at that spot of light surrounding him, and as she did so it struck her that she herself was illuminated with a more beautiful light—that he and she alone were distinguishable out of all the people beneath that roof. The same thought had evidently struck Mr. Plowden, for he was gazing intently at her. Instinctively she drew back into the shadow, and Mr. Plowden went on with his sermon. But he had driven away poor Eva’s vision; there only remained of it the sad reproachful look of those dark eyes. Outside the church Dorothy found Jeremy waiting to escort her home. They all went together as far as the Cottage. When they got clear of the crowd Florence spoke: “What a good-looking man Mr. Plowden is, and how well he preached!” “I did not like him much,” said Dorothy. “What do you think of him, Eva?” asked Florence. “I? Oh, I do not know. I do not think he is a gentleman.” “I am sure that he is not,” put in Jeremy. “I saw him by the post-office this afternoon. He is a cad.” “Rather a sweeping remark that, is it not, Mr. Jones?” said Florence. “I don’t know if it is sweeping or not,” answered Jeremy, sententiously, “but I am sure that it is true.” Then they said good-night, and went their separate ways. CHAPTER III. EVA TAKES A DISTRICT The Reverend James Plowden was born of rich but honest parents in the sugar-broking way. He was one of a large family, who were objects of anxious thought to Mr. and Mrs. Plowden. These worthy people, aware of the disadvantages under which they laboured in the matter of education, determined that neither trouble nor money should be spared to make their children “genteel.” And so it came to pass that the “mansion” near Bloomsbury was overrun with the most expensive nurses, milliners, governesses, and tutors, all straining every nerve to secure the perfect gentility of the young Plowdens. The result was highly ornamental, but scarcely equivalent to the vast expense incurred. The Plowden youth of both sexes may be said to have been painted, and varnished, and gilded into an admirable imitation of gentlefolks; but if the lacquer-work would stand the buffetings of the world’s weather was another question, and one which does not concern us, except in so far as it has to do with a single member of the family. Master James Plowden came about half-way down the family list, but he might just as well have stood at the head of it, for he ruled his brothers and sisters—old and young—with a heavy rod. He was the strong one of the family, strong both in mind and body, and he had a hand of iron. For his misdeeds were his brothers thrashed, preferring to take those ills they knew of from the hands of the thrasher rather than endure the unimagined horrors brother James would make ready for them should they venture to protest.