The Amberleys walked home together when the party dispersed. Mrs.
Amberley opened the discussion on the newcomers.
"She is certainly handsome, but rather bold-looking. Didn't you think so, father?"
"I wasn't drawn to her. But she took no account of us," said the Rector, with his usual despondent candour. In truth he was not thinking about Miss Blanchflower, but only about the possible departure of his daughter, Susy.
"I thought her beautiful!—but I'm sorry for Mr. Winnington!" exclaimed
Susy, a red spot of excitement or indignation in each delicate cheek.
"Mrs. Matheson told me they will only do exactly what they wish—that they won't take her brother's advice. Very wrong, very wrong." The Rector shook his grey head. "Young women were different in my youth."
Mrs. Amberley sighed, and Susy biting her lip, knew that her own conduct was perhaps more in question than Miss Blanchflower's.
They reached home in silence. Susy went to light her father's candles in his modest book-littered study. Then she put her mother on the sofa in the drawing-room, rubbed Mrs. Amberley's cold hands and feet, and blew up the fire.
Suddenly her mother threw an arm round her neck.
"Oh, Susy, must you go?"
Susy kissed her.