Milly did not go to church in the morning, but Iris attended at St. Dunstan's, less for the service than because she desired to see Lovel. Dr. Lester had been as cross as a bear--the usual result of his weekly visit to Marborough--and Iris had not dared to complain about Milly, lest it should raise a domestic storm. The doctor kept to his own room, Milly amused herself with a novel, and Iris went to church to see Lovel. He was not present, however, and as she could not call on him at the Herne Arms, she was obliged to return home disappointed; and decided to delay her appeal till the next day. The delay was fatal. As usual, Milly idled through the long summer hours in a discontented fashion, keeping out of her father's way as much as possible. She saw from his conduct that Iris had not fulfilled her threat of informing him of her vagaries, and said as much. "No," replied Iris coldly; "I have not complained to your father, as he has no authority over you. It would be useless." "I'm glad you see that, dear," rejoined Milly cordially. "I suppose you intend to speak to Darcy and get me a lecture?" "I have told you twice that I do not intend to speak to Mr. Herne. No; it is my intention to ask Mr. Lovel to leave the village." "Pooh! He won't do that while I'm here. "If he is an honorable man he will." Milly shrugged her shoulders. "All I know is that he is a very nice fellow," she said; "if you want honor and priggishness, go to Darcy." Iris was too disgusted to reply to this remark, and went to her room in silence to prepare for evening service. Fearing lest Lovel should speak with Milly on the way to church, she insisted that the girl should come with her. Assured that the appointment would be kept in the Winding Lane, Milly agreed to this readily enough, as she did not wish to rouse the suspicion of Iris, whom she regarded in the light of a marplot. So, to church the sisters--as they may be called--went in the most amiable fashion, and presented an affectionate exterior for the benefit of the Barnstead gossips. St. Dunstan's was quite full, for Mr. Chaskin was the preacher, and his sermons were always worth hearing. He was a tall, well-built man, with an earnest, clean-shaven face; and as he walked in at the tail of the choir-boys a suspicion of his former military vocation could be seen in the swing of his stride. With certain alterations consequent on the Reformation, he had exchanged the sword for the cowl, like some warrior of mediaeval times. He was as earnest a clergyman as he had been a soldier; and had won golden opinions from one and all since his arrival at Barnstead.