Smiling just a little sorrowfully, John would withdraw, and on the following day he would leave for Stanton College.  And it was thus that Mrs Norton’s temper scarred with deep wounds a nature so pale and delicate, so exposed that it seemed as if wanting an outer skin; and as Thornby Place appeared to him little more than a comprehensive symbol of what he held mean, even obscene in life, his visits had grown shorter and fewer, until now his absence extended to the verge of the second year, and besieged by the belief that he was contemplating priesthood, Mrs Norton had written to her old friend, saying that she wanted to speak to him on matters of great importance.  Now maturing her plans for getting her boy back, she stood by the bare black mantel-piece, her head leaning on her hand.  She uttered an exclamation when Mr Hare entered.

“What,” she said, “you haven’t changed your things, and I told you you would find a suit of John’s clothes.  I must insist—­”

“My dear Lizzie, no amount of insistance would get me into a pair of John’s trousers.  I am thirteen stone and a half, and he is not much over ten.”

“Ah!  I had forgotten, but what are you to do?  Something must be done, you will catch your death of cold if you remain in your wet clothes....  You are wringing wet.”

“No, I assure you I am not.  My feet were a little wet, but I have changed my stockings and shoes.  And now, tell me, Lizzie, what there is for lunch,” he said, speaking rapidly to silence Mrs Norton, whom he saw was going to protest again.

“Well, you know it is difficult to get much at this season of the year.  There are some chickens and some curried rabbit, but I am afraid you will suffer for it if you remain the whole of the afternoon in those wet clothes; I really cannot, I will not allow it.”

“My dear Lizzie, my dear Lizzie,” cried the parson, laughing all over his rosy skinned and sandy whiskered face, “I must beg of you not to excite yourself.  I have no intention of committing any of the imprudences you anticipate.  I will trouble you for a wing of that chicken.  James, I’ll take a glass of sherry,... and while I am eating it you shall explain as succinctly as possible the matter you are minded to consult me on, and when I have mastered the subject in all its various details, I will advise you to the best of my power, and having done so I will start on my walk across the hills.”

“What! you mean to say you are going to walk home?...  We shall have another downpour presently.”

“Even so.  I cannot come to much harm so long as I am walking, whereas if I drove home in your carriage I might catch a chill....  It is at least ten miles to Shoreham by the road, while across the hills it is not more than six.”

“Six! it is eight if it is a yard!”

“Well, perhaps it is; but tell me, I am curious to hear what you want to talk to me about....  Something about John, is it not?”