However, for the present the uneasiness was set aside, in the daily avocations of the Rectory, where Alick was always a very different person from what he appeared in Lady Temple’s drawing-room, constantly engaged as he was by unobtrusive watchfulness over his uncle, and active and alert in this service in a manner that was a curious contrast to his ordinary sauntering ways.  As to Rachel, the whole state of existence was still a happy dream.  She floated on from day to day in the tranquil activity of the Rectory, without daring to look back on the past or to think out her present frame of mind; it was only the languor and rest of recovery after suffering, and her husband was heedfully watching her, fearing the experiment of the croquet party, though on many accounts feeling the necessity of its being made.

Ermine’s hint, that with Rachel it rested to prevent her unpopularity from injuring her husband, had not been thrown away, and she never manifested any shrinking from the party, and even took some interest in arraying herself for it.

“That is what I call well turned out,” exclaimed Alick, when she came down.

“Describe her dress, if you please,” said Mr. Clare, “I like to hear how my nieces look.”

Alick guided his hand.  “There, stroke it down, a long white feather in a shady hat trimmed with dark green, velvet; she is fresh and rosy, you know, sir, and looks well in green, and then, is it Grace’s taste, Rachel? for it is the prettiest thing you have worn—­a pale buff sort of silky thing, embroidered all over in the same colour,” and he put a fold of the dress into his uncle’s hand.

“Indian, surely,” said Mr. Clare, feeling the pattern, “it is too intricate and graceful for the West.”

“Yes,” said Alick, “I remember now, Grace showed it to me.  It was one that Lady Temple brought from India, and never had made up.  Poor Grace could get no sympathy from Rachel about the wedding clothes, so she was obliged to come to me.”

“And I thought you did not know one of my things from another,” said Rachel.  “Do you really mean that you care?”

“Depend upon it, he does, my dear,” said Mr. Clare.  “I have heard him severely critical on his cousins.”

“He has been very good in not tormenting me,” said Rachel, nestling nearer to him.

“I apprehended the consequences,” said Alick, “and besides, you never mounted that black lace pall, or curtain, or whatever you call it, upon your head, after your first attempt at frightening me away with it.”

“A cap set against, instead of at,” said Mr. Clare, laughing; and therewith his old horse was heard clattering in the yard, and Alick proceeded to drive the well-used phaeton about three miles through Earlsworthy Park, to a pleasant-looking demesne in the village beyond.  As they were turning in at the gate, up came Lady Keith with her two brisk little Shetlands.  She was one mass of pretty, fresh, fluttering blue and white muslin, ribbon, and lace, and looked particularly well and brilliant.