He did not even think that he wished for anything further in their intercourse. Once, undoubtedly, he had wished it. Whether he had ever been genuinely in love with her, he was not now quite sure. She had been to him as a "bright particular" distant star; as an ethereal unearthly being; as a lovely dream; as "an angel," in short. So he had once told Jean, and it was true. But Jem was older now, and Evelyn was not exactly an angel.
They had exchanged calls. Evelyn had found Mrs. Trevelyan out, and Jem and his mother had found Evelyn in. She had been rubbed the wrong way by a prolonged call, and a lengthy dissertation on the evils of the age, from Colonel Atherstone. Evelyn always bore with him for her husband's sake; but he left her used up and flat, even petulant in a gentle fashion. She vented her petulance once or twice on the unoffending Miss Moggridge; and though Miss Moggridge always seemed to enjoy whatever Evelyn did, the faintest sign of ill-temper in his "angel" was a shock to Jem. He did not expect women in general to be entirely above all human weakness; he was not so unreasonable. But Evelyn was different!
Her violet eyes had their old pathetic unrest; only, perhaps, such unrest is more pathetic at twenty-five than at twenty-nine, especially when the twenty-nine looks like thirty-five; and then craving for something unattainable had grown into what was more like discontent. Nothing can ever be less attractive than discontent.
Moreover, Jem was in a measure preoccupied. He had a great deal of work, worry, and responsibility, all pressing on him. So though he had come to Dutton with some secret dread lest the old pain might revive, it had as yet shown no symptoms of such a resuscitation.
In his East-End Parish, Jem had been judging by that somewhat doubtful test, success—the right man in the right place. He had exactly suited his work, and his work had exactly suited him.
Perhaps that was why he could not be suffered to remain there indefinitely. Friction is often a necessity for the polishing of character.
Jem was likely to have friction enough in Sutton.
His first sermon, after reading himself in, had been preached some three or four weeks back; and Dutton was in a turmoil of talk for days afterwards to make out "what he was." A goodly array of Dutton people had crowded in from other Churches to hear that sermon; not with the smallest intention of being taught by it, but merely to judge therefrom the mental and spiritual standing of the new Rector. Was he able? Was he interesting? Was he dull? Was he High? Was he Evangelical? Was he Broad? Would he think this? Would he say that? Would he do the other? Some asked the more pertinent question, Was he a good man?—But this, translated, too often meant only, Does he hold my opinions?
So they all sat and listened, and each held up as a test the little measuring tape of his own particular views, to see if the Rector's views fitted accurately thereto, in length, and breadth, and thickness.
Certain of the St. John's congregation were present among others; not, of course, from any bad habit of wandering, but solely for the good of their neighbours. If Jem were an undesirable Rector, the sooner folks were warned off from him, the better!