"And perhaps she is a good woman, Edward, and everything she ought to be," interrupted the Rector, speaking more emphatically than was his wont, for in his simple unworldliness it had not occurred to him that his last words could bear the interpretation the Squire had put upon them, and he was rather scandalised. "I say that you ought to hold your judgment until you have seen her, and know something of her at first hand. I do not believe that Dick would expect his family to make friends with a lady who was not above reproach, and I certainly never meant for a moment to imply that he would do such a thing as make love to a woman he did not intend to marry. When I said that men make friends with women, I meant no more than I said."
"Well, you're a parson," said his brother, "and you've got to keep your eyes shut to certain things that go on, I suppose."
"No, Edward, that is not the duty of a parson," returned the Rector. "I shut my eyes to nothing. It seems to me that you do. It seems to me that you shut your eyes to what you know of Dick's character. You picture to yourself a vulgar, scheming adventuress. I say that if Dick is in love with this lady, as you say he is, she is not that, but something very different, and I say again that you ought to withhold your judgment until you have seen her."
"As far as seeing her goes," grumbled the Squire, "there's nothing easier than that. I shall see her at the covert-side, and I dare say I shall see her scampering all over the county covered with mud, and getting in the way of the hounds. Women are an infernal nuisance in the hunting-field. Well, you don't give me much comfort, Tom. Still, it does one some good to talk over one's troubles. I'm afraid this is going to be a big trouble—the biggest I've ever had in my life."
"Then don't meet it half-way," said the Rector. "You don't know for certain that Dick wants to marry her, and if he does she can't be anything like you have imagined her. I'm afraid I must go now, Edward. I have to look in at the Sunday-school."
"Well, good-bye, Tom, my dear fellow. Tell 'em in the Sunday-school to obey their parents. Yes, for this is right, by George! the Bible says. And so it is; if children would obey their parents, half the trouble in the world would disappear."
Dick was not best pleased, when he drove up to the door of Blaythorn Rectory, to hear that her ladyship had gone for a walk with Miss Dexter, and would not be back for an hour or more. He had not told her that he was coming over, and had not intended to do so. Horses were not taken out of the Kencote stables on Sundays without necessity. He said he would wait, and went into the drawing-room to get what consolation he could out of his own thoughts until Virginia should return.
He had been there about half an hour, sometimes walking up and down the room, sometimes reading a few pages of a book and throwing it impatiently on one side, sometimes sitting staring moodily into the fire, when he heard voices in the hall. A look of relief came over his face and he got up, prepared to greet Virginia, when the door was opened and Mrs. Graham was shown into the room. She was dressed in her usual serviceable walking clothes and had a dog-whip in her hand, although she had left her dogs for the time being outside.
"Good gracious, Dick!" she exclaimed. "They told me there was nobody here."
"The other maid let me in," said Dick. He could not for the life of him prevent himself feeling and looking shamefaced.