It was sensible, severe Fan Constable who looked on at the play which sometimes provoked, and sometimes amused Oliver—for he was a young man and so susceptible to various influences—with glistening eyes and a throbbing heart. Was there more than one, true aristocrat, forgetful, not simply of self, but of the world? Might the friendship between Copley Grange Farm and Friarton Mill be cemented by a double alliance? Fan was the last girl in the world to stoop, even for the purpose of conquering. If she did not receive allegiance unsought, she would never, by premeditation and with design, seek it. But she could find no condemnation for the doings of her new friend. All Fan’s blame was for Oliver, who continued, or pretended to continue, utterly insensible to the wonderful irresistible honour conferred upon him. Fan discovered springs of sympathy with Agneta, while she had no patience with Oliver. She was impelled to say something to him one evening when brother and sister had just parted from the Stanhopes and seen them go on their way through Copley Grange Park to the Farm. The group lingered on the road, in order to go up close to the half-shut-up house, examine the objectionable façade, and stand—figures in keeping—in the portico, while they ascertained for themselves how Friarton Mill looked from the great house in whose prospect it was understood to form such an ornament. The two Constables, on their part, stood on their own side of the Brook in the mill-house court. ‘I am not fond of gushing, I believe,’ said Fan, slowly and deliberately, as if she were making a searching analysis of her private propensities. ‘As a rule, I am convinced I am not fond of superlatives or caressing expressions’—speaking with studied moderation—‘but I will say’—becoming ardent at a bound—‘Miss Stanhope, Agneta—I may call her behind her back as well as before her face, since she has asked me to call her by her Christian name,’ proclaimed Fan, with honest, affectionate pride in the permission—‘is the most lovable, darling girl I ever met.’ ‘She is not a bad specimen of her class, I dare say,’ said Oliver with provoking impartiality.