Angel sat down, and the place felt like home; yet he did not so much as formerly feel himself one of the family gathered there.  Every time that he returned hither he was conscious of this divergence, and since he had last shared in the Vicarage life it had grown even more distinctly foreign to his own than usual.  Its transcendental aspirations—­still unconsciously based on the geocentric view of things, a zenithal paradise, a nadiral hell—­were as foreign to his own as if they had been the dreams of people on another planet.  Latterly he had seen only Life, felt only the great passionate pulse of existence, unwarped, uncontorted, untrammelled by those creeds which futilely attempt to check what wisdom would be content to regulate.

On their part they saw a great difference in him, a growing divergence from the Angel Clare of former times.  It was chiefly a difference in his manner that they noticed just now, particularly his brothers.  He was getting to behave like a farmer; he flung his legs about; the muscles of his face had grown more expressive; his eyes looked as much information as his tongue spoke, and more.  The manner of the scholar had nearly disappeared; still more the manner of the drawing-room young man.  A prig would have said that he had lost culture, and a prude that he had become coarse.  Such was the contagion of domiciliary fellowship with the Talbothays nymphs and swains.

After breakfast he walked with his two brothers, non-evangelical, well-educated, hall-marked young men, correct to their remotest fibre, such unimpeachable models as are turned out yearly by the lathe of a systematic tuition.  They were both somewhat short-sighted, and when it was the custom to wear a single eyeglass and string they wore a single eyeglass and string; when it was the custom to wear a double glass they wore a double glass; when it was the custom to wear spectacles they wore spectacles straightway, all without reference to the particular variety of defect in their own vision.  When Wordsworth was enthroned they carried pocket copies; and when Shelley was belittled they allowed him to grow dusty on their shelves.  When Correggio’s Holy Families were admired, they admired Correggio’s Holy Families; when he was decried in favour of Velasquez, they sedulously followed suit without any personal objection.

If these two noticed Angel’s growing social ineptness, he noticed their growing mental limitations.  Felix seemed to him all Church; Cuthbert all College.  His Diocesan Synod and Visitations were the mainsprings of the world to the one; Cambridge to the other.  Each brother candidly recognized that there were a few unimportant score of millions of outsiders in civilized society, persons who were neither University men nor churchmen; but they were to be tolerated rather than reckoned with and respected.