The vicar held out his hand.
“Good-night. You will not be offended with me for saying that I hope Heaven will soften your heart,” he said in a low voice, in the gentle, almost apologetic tones which he always used when touching upon religious matters.
“No, I’m not offended,” said Ned, in a hard, mocking voice.
“And will you come to our haymaking to-morrow?” Mr. Brander continued in a lighter tone. “It will be a very simple sort of festivity, but it may serve as a change from your hermit-like solitude and your gloomy reflections.”
Ned began to shake his head rather contemptuously, muttering something rather surlily about being “too old to pick buttercups.”
“Mr. Williams, of the Towers, will be here,” went on the vicar, as pleasantly as ever. “He is exceedingly anxious to make your acquaintance.”
The expression of Ned’s face changed.
“Is that the Mr. Williams who has been bothering so about repairing the old church down there—St. Cuthbert’s?” he asked, with affected carelessness.
And the vicar’s expression changed also.
“I believe he did talk about it at one time; but as my brother objected to it, he had to give up the idea,” he said, in a low voice, glancing at Vernon, who was talking to Mrs. Brander.