The talk was noisy enough all round the table to isolate the two completely. Even Miss Stedman was listening to her loud-voiced neighbor, the Lieutenant. Madge Anison looked straight at Philip, and said, "Yes, I _am_ speaking seriously." "I believe I should not, now. But nobody knows what he may do when he is in love." "You _are_ in love." This time the room whirled, and the voices sounded like the murmur of a distant sea. In an instant Philip Stanburne passed from one state of life to another state of life. A crisis, which changed the whole future of four persons there present, occurred in the world of his consciousness. His imagination rioted in wild day-dreams; but one picture rose before him with irresistible vividness--a picture of Alice kneeling with him under a canopy, before the high altar at St. Agatha's. A slight pressure on his left arm recalled him to the actual world. The ladies were all leaving their seats, and Madge had kindly reminded him where he was. "A sad place for drinking is Shayton," observed Mr. Blunting, as he poured himself a glass of pure water. "I wonder if one could do any good there?" "They're past curing, mostly, are Shayton folk," answered John Stedman. "Are not they, Mr. Ogden?" "There's one here that is, I'm afraid," answered Isaac, with much humility. Mr. Blunting inquired, with sympathy in his tone, whether Mr. Ogden had himself fallen under temptation. When Isaac confessed his backslidings of the past week, the reverend gentleman requested permission to see him in private. Isaac had a dislike to clergymen in general, and in matters of religion rather shared the latitudinarian views of his friend Dr. Bardly; but he was in a state of profound moral discouragement, and ready to be grateful to any one who held out prospects of effectual help. So it ended by his accepting an invitation to take tea at the parsonage at Sootythorn. "If you take tea with Mr. Blunting," said Joseph Anison, "you must mind he doesn't inoculate you with his own sort of intemperance, if he cures you of your little excesses. He drinks tea enough in a year to float a canal-boat. It's a terribly bad habit. In my opinion it's far worse than drinking brandy. The worst of it is that it makes men like gossip just as women do. Stick to your brandy-bottle, Mr. Ogden, like a man, and let Mr. Blunting empty his big tea-pot!" CHAPTER XIX. THE COLONEL AT WHITTLECUP. Whilst the gentlemen were still in the dining-room, Mr. Blunting saw a horse pass the window--a riderless, yet harnessed horse--followed by another horse in an unaccustomed manner; and then came a lofty vehicle, drawn by the latter animal. I have described this equipage as it appeared to Mr. Blunting; but the experienced reader will perceive that it was a tandem, and by the association of ideas will expect to see Fyser and the Colonel.