"Where to?"
"To the porch. I promised Urith to meet her there."
"Oh! she is pulling at the apron-string. Let me not detain you."
Anthony walked away. He was annoyed. It was absurd, preposterous of Fox to speak to him as if he were in subjection to his wife. The words of Fox left an uneasy feeling in his breast, as if it had been touched by a nettle, a tingle, a sting, nothing to signify—but a perceptible discomfort.
He reached the church-porch as Urith and Julian were leaving the church, and he arrived at a critical moment.
That morning before leaving Willsworthy, Urith had taken her gloves to draw them on, when she found them stuck together with some adhesive matter. On pulling them over she found that the palms and fingers were covered with pitch. It then occurred to her that she had laid her hands on some rails that been recently blackened with pitch to preserve them from decay, by her husband and that it was not dry as she had supposed. The gloves were spoiled—she could not wear them. She was not possessed of another pair, and could not ride to Tavistock with hands uncovered.
Her eyes fell on the pair that had belonged to Julian, and which had been cast at her in defiance. After hesitating for a moment, she drew these on, and resolved to purchase herself fresh gloves in the fair.
On reaching church, she drew off her gloves, and laid them across the rail of the pew.
Julian Crymes was near, in the Kilworthy pew—that belonging to the Glanvilles, as did the pew in Peter Tavy Church also, attached to another house owned by the family in that parish.