To be at Sutton, and not to come face to face with Maurice, was of course an impossibility.  Carefully as Vera confined herself to the house and garden for the next three days, she could not avoid going to church when Sunday came.  And at church were Captain and Mrs. Kynaston.  During the service she only saw his back, erect and broad-shouldered, in the seat in front of her, for the pews had been cleared away, and open sittings had been substituted all through the church.  Maurice looked neither to the right nor to the left; he stood, or sat, or knelt, and scarcely turned his head an inch, but Helen’s butterfly bonnet was twisted in every direction throughout the service.  It is certain that she very soon knew who it was who had come into the vicarage seat behind her.

When Vera came out of church, having purposely lingered as long as she could inside, until the rest of the congregation had all gone out, she found the bride and bridegroom waiting for her in the churchyard.

Helen stood with her hand twined with easy familiarity round her husband’s arm; possibly she had studied the attitude with a view to impressing Vera with the perfection of her conjugal happiness.  She turned quite delightedly to greet her.

“Oh, here you are at last, Miss Nevill.  We have been waiting for you, have we not, Maurice dear?  We both felt how pleased we should be to see you.  I am very glad you have come back; it will make it much more pleasant for me at Kynaston; you will come up to see me, won’t you?  I should like you to see my boudoir, it is lovely!”

“You forget that Miss Nevill has seen it all long ago,” said Maurice, gravely; their hands had just met, but he had not looked at her.

“Oh, yes, to be sure; how stupid I am!  Of course, I remember now, it was all done up for you by poor dear old John.  Doesn’t it seem funny that I should be going to live in the house?  Ah, how d’ye do, Mr. Daintree?” as Eustace came out of the vestry door; “here we are, chattering to your sister.  What a delightful sermon, dear Mr. Daintree, and what a treat to be in a Christian church—­I mean a Protestant church—­again after those dreadful Sundays on the Continent.”

Vera had turned to Maurice.

“Have you any news of Sir John yet?”

“No; we cannot expect to hear of his arrival till next month.  I dare say you will like to hear about him.  I will let you know as soon as he writes.”

“Thank you; I should like to know about him very much.”

Helen, in the middle of Eustace’s polite acknowledgment of her compliment to his sermon, was casting furtive glances at her husband; even the two or three grave words he had exchanged with Vera were sufficient to make her uneasy.  She desired to torture Vera with envy and with jealousy; she had forgotten to take into account how very easily her own suspicious jealousy could be aroused.  She interrupted the vicar in the very middle of his speech.