"If you wish to be popular," said the vicar, "you must do so here."
"As I intend to die in this part of the world, I must get on with the crowd somehow. I am not accustomed to be shunned, and that is what your people here are doing."
"Oh, no!" cried Sybil, much distressed, "they are only waiting to know you better, Mr Pratt. In a year you will be quite friendly with them."
"I'm friendly with them now," said Pratt, dryly, "it is they who hold off."
"We are slow to make friendships here," said Raston, "but when we do accept a friend we stick to him always."
"You are a native of these parts, Mr Raston?"
"I was born and bred here."
"It is I who am the stranger," put in Mr Tempest, "and it was a long time before my parishioners took to me."
"You are adored now, papa," said Sybil, with a bright glance.
"And someone else is adored also," put in Pratt. Sybil flushed at the compliment. She thought it was in bad taste.