not feel that he wore them—­he could not divine how it was—­with a proper air, an air of signal comfort.  In fact, the graceful negligence of an English gentleman’s manner had been unexpectedly revealed to him; and it was strange, he reflected, that Percy never appeared to observe how deficient he was, and could still treat him as an equal, call him by his Christian name, and not object to be seen with him in public.

Robert did not think at the same time that illness had impoverished his blood.  Your sensational beings must keep a strong and a good flow of blood in their veins to be always on a level with the occasion which they provoke.  He remembered wonderingly that he had used to be easy in gait and ready of wit when walking from Queen Anne’s Farm to Wrexby village church.  Why was he a different creature now?  He could not answer the question.

Two or three of his Warbeach acquaintances passed him in the lanes.  They gave him good day, and spoke kindly, and with pleasant friendly looks.

Their impression when they left him was that he was growing proud.

The jolly butcher of Warbeach, who had a hearty affection for him, insisted upon clapping his hand, and showing him to Mrs. Billing, and showing their two young ones to Robert.  With a kiss to the children, and a nod, Robert let them pass.

Here and there, he was hailed by young fellows who wore their hats on one side, and jaunty-fashioned coats—­Sunday being their own bright day of exhibition.  He took no notice of the greetings.

He tried to feel an interest in the robins and twittering wrens, and called to mind verses about little birds, and kept repeating them, behind a face that chilled every friendly man who knew him.

Moody the boat-builder asked him, with a stare, if he was going to church, and on Robert’s replying that perhaps he was, said “I’m dashed!” and it was especially discouraging to one in Robert’s condition.

Further to inspirit him, he met Jonathan Eccles, who put the same question to him, and getting the same answer, turned sharp round and walked homeward.

Robert had a great feeling of relief when the bells were silent, and sauntered with a superior composure round the holly and laurel bushes concealing the church.  Not once did he ponder on the meeting between Major Waring and Mr. Edward Blancove, until he beheld the former standing alone by the churchyard gate, and then he thought more of the empty churchyard and the absence of carriages, proclaiming the dreadful admonition that he must immediately consider as to the best way of comporting himself before an observant and censorious congregation.

Major Waring remarked, “You are late.”

“Have I kept you waiting?” said Robert.

“Not long.  They are reading the lessons.”

“Is it full inside?”

“I dare say it is.”

“You have seen him, I suppose?”