I looked up and followed her smiling gaze. My father was coming noiselessly across the smooth, green turf towards us. We both of us watched him for a moment, Lady Naselton with a faint look of surprise in her scrutiny. My father was not in the least of the type of the ordinary country clergyman. He was tall and slim, and carried himself with an air of calm distinction. His clean-shaven face was distinctly of the intellectual cast. His hair was only slightly grey, was parted in the middle and vigorously mobile and benevolent. His person in every way was faultless and immaculate, from the tips of his long fingers to the spotless white cravat which alone redeemed the sombreness of his clerical attire. I murmured a few words of introduction, and he bowed over Lady Naselton’s hand with a smile which women generally found entrancing. “I am very glad to meet Lady Naselton,” he said, courteously. “My daughter has told me so much of your kindness to her.” Lady Naselton made some pleasing and conventional reply. My father turned to me. “Have you some tea, Kate?” he asked. “I have been making a long round of calls, and it is a little exhausting.” “I have some, but it is not fit to drink,” I answered, striking the gong. “Mary shall make some fresh. It will only take a minute or two.” My father acquiesced silently. He was fastidious in small things, and I knew better than to offer him cold tea. He drew up a basket-chair to us and sat down with a little sigh of relief. “You have commenced your work here early,” Lady Naselton remarked. “Do you think that you are going to like these parts?” “The country is delightful,” my father answered readily. “As to the work--well, I scarcely know. Rural existence is such a change after the nervous life of a great city.” “You had a large parish at Belchester, had you not?” Lady Naselton asked. “A very large one,” he answered. “I am fond of work. I have always been used to large parishes.” And two curates, I reflected silently. Lady Naselton was looking sympathetic. “You will find plenty to do here, I believe,” she remarked. “The schools are in a most backward condition. My husband says that unless there is a great change in them very soon we shall be having the School Board.” “We must try and prevent that,” my father said, gravely. “Of course I have to remember that I am only curate-in-charge here, but still I shall do what I can. My youngest daughter Alice is a great assistance to me in such matters. By the by, where is Alice?” he added, turning to me. “She is in the village somewhere,” I answered. “She will not be home for tea. She has gone to see an old woman--to read to her, I think.” My father sighed gently. “Alice is a good girl,” he said. I bore the implied reproof complacently. My father sipped his tea for a moment or two, and then asked a question.