in fact, she had gone out with her pupils, now that the afternoon had cleared up.  This uneasy wonder, and a few mental imprecations on his host’s polite attention, together with the letter-writing pretence, passed away the afternoon—­the longest afternoon he had ever spent; and of weariness he had had his share.  Lunch was lingering in the dining-room, left there for the truant Mr. Hickson; but of the children or Ruth there was no sign.  He ventured on a distant inquiry as to their whereabouts.

“They dine early; they are gone to church again.  Mrs. Denbigh was a member of the Establishment once; and, though she attends chapel at home, she seems glad to have an opportunity of going to church.”

Mr. Donne was on the point of asking some further questions about “Mrs. Denbigh,” when Mr. Hickson came in, loud-spoken, cheerful, hungry, and as ready to talk about his ramble, and the way in which he had lost and found himself, as he was about everything else.  He knew how to dress up the commonest occurrence with a little exaggeration, a few puns, and a happy quotation or two, so as to make it sound very agreeable.  He could read faces, and saw that he had been missed; both host and visitor looked moped to death.  He determined to devote himself to their amusement during the remainder of the day, for he had really lost himself, and felt that he had been away too long on a dull Sunday, when people were apt to get hipped if not well amused.

“It is really a shame to be indoors in such a place.  Rain?  Yes, it rained some hours ago, but now it is splendid weather.  I feel myself quite qualified for guide, I assure you.  I can show you all the beauties of the neighbourhood, and throw in a bog and a nest of vipers to boot.”

Mr. Donne languidly assented to this proposal of going out; and then he became restless until Mr. Hickson had eaten a hasty lunch, for he hoped to meet Ruth on the way from church, to be near her, and watch her, though he might not be able to speak to her.  To have the slow hours roll away—­to know he must leave the next day—­and yet, so close to her, not to be seeing her—­was more than he could bear.  In an impetuous kind of way, he disregarded all Mr. Hickson’s offers of guidance to lovely views, and turned a deaf ear to Mr. Bradshaw’s expressed wish of showing him the land belonging to the house ("very little for fourteen thousand pounds"), and set off wilfully on the road leading to the church, from which he averred he had seen a view which nothing else about the place could equal.

They met the country people dropping homewards.  No Ruth was there.  She and her pupils had returned by the field-way, as Mr. Bradshaw informed his guests at dinner-time.  Mr. Donne was very captious all through dinner.  He thought it never would be over, and cursed Hickson’s interminable stories, which were told on purpose to amuse him.  His heart gave a fierce bound when he saw her in the drawing-room with the little girls.