At tea that evening Harry broached the subject of his visit to the chapel. He knew his mother would hear of it, and thought it best she should have the melancholy story from his lips.
'Do you see much of Shine's daughter, mother?' he asked.
'I do not see her often, but she has grown into a tall, handsome girl; very different from the wild little thing you rescued from the cattle on the common eight years ago.'
'Yes; I've seen her—saw her in the chapel this morning.'
'In the chapel,' said Mrs. Hardy, turning upon him with surprise; 'were you in the chapel, Henry?'
Harry nodded rather shamefacedly.
'Yes, mother,' he said, 'I went to chapel, an' took my whip with me. I meant to scruff Shine before the lot o' them, an' lash him black an' blue.'
'That was shameful—shameful!
'Anyhow, I didn't do it. She came an' put me off, an' I sneaked out as if I'd been licked myself. I couldn't have hammered the brute before her eyes, but—but—'
'But you meant to; is that it? Henry, you almost make me despair. Have you no more respect for yourself? Have you none for me?'