“Because,” he began again, only to suffer renewed agony of wordlessness.  In desperation he shifted his ground.

“You have heard, perhaps, that your niece, Miss Damaris, left the church before the conclusion of the sermon?  I do not blame her”—­

He waved a fatherly hand.  Miss Verity acquiesced.

“Or rather was led out by—­by Captain Faircloth—­a young officer in the mercantile marine, whose abilities and successful advance in his profession this village has every reason to respect.”

He broke off.

“Let us walk on towards The Hard.  Pray let us walk on.—­Has no rumour ever reached you, Miss Verity, regarding this young man?”

The wildest ideas flitted through Miss Felicia’s brain.

—­The figure in shiny oilskins—­yet preposterous, surely?—­After all, an affair of the heart—­misplaced affection—­Damaris?—­Did this account for the apparent indifference?

—­How intensely interesting; yet how unwise.—­How—­but she must keep her own counsel.  The wind, now at her back, glued the blue coat inconveniently against and even between her legs, unceremoniously whisking her forward.

“Rumours—­oh, none,” she protested.

“None?” he echoed despairingly.  “Pray let us walk on.”

A foolish urgency on his part this, she felt, since she was already almost on the run.

“None that, by birth, Captain Faircloth is somewhat nearly related to your family—­to your—­your brother, Sir Charles, in fact?”

There, the incubus was off his straining chest at last!  He felt easier, capable of manipulating the situation to some extent, smoothing down its rather terrible ascerbities.

“Such connections do,” he hastened to add, “as we must regretfully admit, exist even in the highest, the most exalted circles.  Irregularities of youth, doubtlessly deeply repented of.  I repeat sins of youth, at which only the sinless—­and they, alas! to the shame of my sex are lamentably few—­can be qualified to cast a stone.—­You, you follow me?”

“You mean me to understand”—­

“Yes, yes—­exactly so—­to understand that this young man is reputed to be”—­

“Thank you, my dear Canon—­thank you,” Felicia Verity here interposed quickly, yet with much simple dignity, for on a sudden she became singularly unflurried and composed.

“I do, I believe, follow you,” she continued.—­“You have discharged your difficult mission with a delicacy and consideration for which I am grateful; but I am unequal to discussing the subject in further detail just now.—­To me, you know, my brother is above criticism.  Whatever incidents may—­may belong to former years, I accept without cavil or question, in silence—­dear Dr. Horniblow—­in silence.  His wishes upon this matter—­should he care to confide them to me—­and those of my niece, will dictate my conduct to—­towards my nephew, Captain Faircloth.—­Believe me, in all sincerity, I thank you.  I am very much indebted to you for the information you have communicated to me.  It simplifies my position.  And now,” she gave him her hand, “will you pardon my asking you to leave me?”