That made him feel a new chivalry and kindness towards all girls, particularly towards those who lived in his own parish. It may have been ridiculous, or it may not, but he became secretly proud of their fresh looks and jealous of their honour, like an elder brother. Several of them sang in the choir-gallery whose families attended chapel, and, one way or another, he knew nearly every one in the parish by now, as a country parson will in old-fashioned places. So when one of those regrettable incidents occurred which happen in all country parishes, he was inclined to forget his casual knowledge of such affairs in London, and to look on the thing as a personal outrage.
It was no longer a vague girl who had taken a wrong turning, but a definite Gladys Wilton, whose life was spoilt, and a John Wilton, shepherd, who went sorrowful and shamed.
Falling in love with Elizabeth, therefore, had made girls sacred to her lover, and that is rather a fine thing to say of Elizabeth.
The other events at work in Andy when he encountered the author of the misfortune in a lonely lane were, the difference with Mrs. Jebb, the “Parson Andy” of the two women passing the hedge, and, in the immediate present, a meeting with a big young man instead of the eagerly expected Elizabeth, who was still away from home, though Andy did not know it.
He had walked miles, scanning the fields and lanes round her house in vain, but not venturing to call. So he was feeling tired, and irritable, and more in love than ever. And the events mentioned pushed him on into a course of action which he would otherwise not have taken.
The young man, too, was looking very jolly, with a pipe in his mouth and a good bicycle and every evidence of self-satisfied prosperity.
“Afternoon!” he said rather insolently, with a smirk that irritated Andy still further. He had been asked by old Wilton to speak to the young man, and he suddenly made up his mind that he would speak now.
“Stop!” he cried. “May I have a word with you?”
So they entered into a conversation which began all right, but ended, as it was bound to do under the circumstances, by Andy calling the young man a coward, and the young man calling Andy a blanked, interfering parson, who only dared to say things like that because he knew he wouldn’t have to fight.
“I don’t mind a fight,” said Andy, beginning to go white about the nose and to breathe heavily.