The fineness of the weather, combined with the Saturday half-holiday, was attracting abroad all manner of Nevilton folk. Lads and maids, in merry noisy groups, passed and repassed. The platform of the little station was crowded with expectant passengers waiting for the train to Yeoborough.
As the brothers stood together, carelessly turning over with their sticks the fetid heads of a patch of meadow fungi, they observed two separate couples issuing, one after another, from the little swing-gate that opened on the level-crossing. They recognized both couples almost simultaneously. The first pair consisted of Annie Bristow and Phyllis Santon; the second of Vennie Seldom and Mr. Clavering.
The two girls proceeded, arm-in-arm, up the sloping path that led in the direction of Hullaway. Vennie and Mr. Clavering advanced straight towards the brothers. Luke had time to wonder vaguely whether this conjunction of Vennie and her Anglican pastor had any connection with last night’s happenings.
He was too closely associated with that Gargantuan gossip, Mrs. Fringe, not to be aware that for many weeks past Miss Seldom and the young clergyman had studiously avoided one another. That they should now be walking together, indicated, to his astute mind, either a quarrel between the young lady and Mr. Taxater, or an estrangement between the vicar and Gladys. Luke was the sort of philosopher who takes for granted that in all these situations it is love for love, or hate for hate, which propels irresistibly the human mechanism and decides the most trifling incidents.
James looked angry and embarrassed at the appearance of the pair; but they were too close upon them for any escape to be possible.
“How are you today, Andersen?” began Mr. Clavering, with his usual well-meaning but indiscreet impulsiveness. “Miss Seldom tells me she was nervous about you last night. She was afraid you were working too hard.”
Vennie gave him a quick reproachful glance, and made a deprecatory movement with her hands. “Are all men,” she thought, “either without scruple or without common-sense?”
“I’m glad to see that I was quite mistaken,” she hastened to add. “You don’t look at all tired today, Mr. Andersen. And no wonder, with such a perfectly lovely afternoon! And how are you, Mr. Luke? I haven’t been down to see how that Liverpool font is getting on, for ever so long. I believe you’ll end by being quite as famous as your father.”
Luke received this compliment in his most courtly manner. He was always particularly anxious to impress persons who belonged to the “real” upper classes with his social sang-froid.
He was at this precise moment, however, a little agitated by the conduct of the two young people who had just passed up the meadow. Instead of disappearing into the lane beyond, they continued to loiter at the gate, and finally, after an interlude of audible laughter and lively discussion, they proceeded to stretch themselves upon the grass. The sight of two amiable young women, both so extremely well known to him, and both in evident high spirits, thus enjoying the sunshine, filled our faun-like friend’s mind with the familiar craving for frivolity. He caught Mr. Clavering’s glance fixed gravely upon him. He also, it appeared, was not oblivious of the loitering villagers.