Mrs. Eldon saw her son with surprise, the more so that she divined the cause of his coming.  When they had talked for a while, Hubert frankly admitted what it was that had brought him.

‘I must know,’ he said, ‘whether the news from Wanley is true’

‘But can it concern you, Hubert?’ his mother asked gently.

He made no direct reply, but expressed his intention of going over to Wanley.

‘Whom shall you visit, dear?’

‘Mr. Wyvern.’

‘The vicar?  But you don’t know him personally.’

‘Yes, I know him pretty well.  We write to each other occasionally.’

Mrs. Eldon always practised most reserve when her surprise was greatest—­an excellent rule, by-the-by, for general observation.  She looked at her son with a half-smile of wonder, but only said ‘Indeed?’

‘I had made his acquaintance before his coming to Wanley,’ Hubert explained.

His mother just bent her head, acquiescent.  And with that their conversation on the subject ended.  But Hubert received a tender kiss on his cheek when he set forth in the afternoon.

To one entering the valley after nightfall the situation of the much-discussed New Wanley could no longer be a source of doubt.  Two blast-furnaces sent up their flare and lit luridly the devastated scene.  Having glanced in that direction Hubert did his best to keep his eyes averted during the remainder of the walk.  He was surprised to see a short passenger train rush by on the private line connecting the works with Agworth station; it was taking away certain visitors who had lingered in New Wanley after the lecture.  Knowing nothing of the circumstances, he supposed that general traffic had been commenced.  He avoided the village street, and reached the Vicarage by a path through fields.

He found the vicar at dinner, though it was only half-past six.  The welcome he received was, in Mr. Wyvern’s manner, almost silent; but when he had taken a place at the table he saw satisfaction on his host’s face.  The meal was very plain, but the vicar ate with extraordinary appetite; he was one of those men in whom the demands of the stomach seem to be in direct proportion to the activity of the brain.  A question Hubert put about the train led to a brief account of what was going on.  Mr. Wyvern spoke on the subject with a gravity which was not distinctly ironical, but suggested criticism.

They repaired to the study.  A volume of Plato was open on the reading-table.

‘Do you remember Socrates’ prayer in the “Phaedrus"?’ said the vicar, bending affectionately over the page.  He read a few words of the Greek, then gave a free rendering.  ’Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this place, give me beauty in the inward soul; and may the outward and inward be at one.  May I esteem the wise alone wealthy, and may I have such abundance of wealth as none but the temperate can carry.’

He paused a moment.