Pratt cast another sharp glance at her. He guessed that something was wrong with Leo, and that the young man had told her of his trouble. He wondered if the two were engaged when they were thus confidential. Pratt took an interest in Leo, as he had known him for some years, and rather sympathised with his outbursts of youthful folly. He thought that marriage would steady the lad's somewhat volatile nature, but he could not make up his mind as to whether Miss Hale or Miss Tempest was the best wife for him. However, it was useless for Pratt to worry over this, as he recognised very clearly. In the first place, it was none of his business; and in the second, Leo would certainly choose for himself. "I am giving a house-warming, Mr Raston," said Pratt during luncheon, "and I should like you to come to dinner. Next Thursday. I suppose in this Arcadian spot it is not necessary to give written invitations." "I accept with pleasure," replied Raston, quite ignorant that Pratt wished to enlist him on his side in getting the vicar to accept the cup; "but as to written invitations--what do you say, Miss Tempest?" "Oh, those are _most_ necessary," laughed Sybil. "We are very particular in this part of the world." "I am an American, you see, Miss Tempest, and I don't know your English way of doing things. But the invitations shall be written in due form. I guess it is as well to humour the prejudice of folks." "If you wish to be popular," said the vicar, "you must do so here." "As I intend to die in this part of the world, I must get on with the crowd somehow. I am not accustomed to be shunned, and that is what your people here are doing." "Oh, no!" cried Sybil, much distressed, "they are only waiting to know you better, Mr Pratt. In a year you will be quite friendly with them." "I'm friendly with them now," said Pratt, dryly, "it is they who hold off." "We are slow to make friendships here," said Raston, "but when we do accept a friend we stick to him always." "You are a native of these parts, Mr Raston?" "I was born and bred here." "It is I who am the stranger," put in Mr Tempest, "and it was a long time before my parishioners took to me." "You are adored now, papa," said Sybil, with a bright glance. "And someone else is adored also," put in Pratt. Sybil flushed at the compliment. She thought it was in bad taste. After a time the conversation turned on Pearl Darry, and Raston, who was deeply interested in her, gave them some insight into the girl's mind. "She does not care for churches built by hands," he said. "If she had her way she would take the altar into the middle of the moor and worship there. I think she feels stifled under a roof." "Ha!" said Pratt, with a swift glance, remembering Mrs Jeal, "is she of gipsy blood? She looks like it."