‘If that were the case, I think I should have heard of it.’

’If I were allowed to see her!  So much at least should be granted me.  I should not poison the air she breathes.’

‘Do you return to Agworth to-night?’ Mr. Wyvern inquired.

‘Yes, I shall walk back.’

‘Can you come to me again to-morrow evening?’

It was agreed that Hubert should do so.  Mr. Wyvern gave no definite promise of aid, but the young man felt that he would do something.

‘The night is fine,’ said the vicar; ’I will walk half a mile with you.’

They left the Vicarage, and ten yards from the door turned into the path which would enable them to avoid the village street.  Not two minutes after their quitting the main road the spot was passed by Adela herself, who was walking towards Mr. Wyvern’s dwelling.  On her inquiring for the vicar, she learnt from the servant that he had just left home.  She hesitated, and seemed about to ask further questions or leave a message, but at length turned away from the door and retraced her steps slowly and with bent head.

She knew not whether to feel glad or sorry that the interview she had come to seek could not immediately take place.  This day had been a hard one for Adela.  In the morning her mother had spoken to her without disguise or affectation, and had told her of Mutimer’s indirect proposal.  Mrs. Waltham went on to assure her that there was no hurry, that Mutimer had consented to refrain from visits for a short time in order that she might take counsel with herself, and that—­the mother’s voice trembled on the words—­absolute freedom was of course left her to accept or refuse.  But Mrs. Waltham could not pause there, though she tried to.  She went on to speak of the day’s proceedings.

’Think what we may, my dear, of Mr. Mutimer’s opinions, no one can deny that he is making a most unselfish use of his wealth.  We shall have an opportunity to-day of hearing how it is regarded by those who—­who understand such questions.’

Adela implored to be allowed to remain at home instead of attending the lecture, but on this point Mrs. Waltham was inflexible.  The girl could not offer resolute opposition in a matter which only involved an hour or two’s endurance.  She sat in pale silence.  Then her mother broke into tears, bewailed herself as a luckless being, entreated her daughter’s pardon, but in the end was perfectly ready to accept Adela’s self-sacrifice.

On her return from New Wanley, Adela sat alone till tea-time, and after that meal again went to her room.  She was not one of those girls to whom tears come as a matter of course on any occasion of annoyance or of grief; her bright eyes had seldom been dimmed since childhood, for the lightsomeness of her character threw off trifling troubles almost as soon as they were felt, and of graver afflictions she had hitherto known none since her father’s death.  But since the shock she received on that day when her