Fleetwood came out presently, saying to Edwards: 

’That concession goes far enough.  Because I have a neighbour who yields at every step?  No, stick to the principle.  I’ve said my final word.  And here’s the carriage.  If the mines are closed, more’s the pity:  but I’m not responsible.  You can let them know if you like, before I drive off; it doesn’t matter to me.’

The carriage was ready.  Gower cast a glance up the hill.  Three female figures and a pannier-donkey were visible on the descent.  He nodded to Edwards, who took the words out of his mouth.  ‘Her ladyship, my lord.’

She was distinctly seen, and looked formidable in definition against the cloud.  Madge and the nurse-maid Martha were the two other young women.  On they came, and the, angry man seated in the carriage could not give the order to start.  Nor could he quite shape an idea of annoyance, though he hung to it and faced at Gower a battery of the promise to pay him for this.  Tattling observers were estimated at their small importance there, as everywhere, by one so high above them.  But the appearance of the woman of the burlesque name and burlesque actions, and odd ascension out of the ludicrous into a form to cast a spell, so that she commanded serious recollections of her, disturbed him.  He stepped from his carriage.  Again he had his incomprehensible fit of shyness; and a vision of the complacent, jowled, redundant, blue-coated monarch aswing in imbecile merriment on the signboard of the Royal Sovereign inn; constitutionally his total opposite, yet instigating the sensation.

In that respect his countess and he had shifted characters.  Carinthia came on at her bold mountain stride to within hail of him.  Met by Gower, she talked, smiled, patted her donkey, clutched his ear, lifted a silken covering to show the child asleep; entirely at her ease and unhurried.  These women get aid from their pride of maternity.  And when they can boast a parson behind them, they are indecorous up to insolent in their ostentation of it.

She resumed her advance, with a slight abatement of her challengeing match, sedately; very collectedly erect; changed in the fulness of her figure and her poised calm bearing.

He heard her voice addressing Gower:  ’Yes, they do; we noticed the slate-roofs, looking down on them.  They do look like a council of rooks in the hollow; a parliament, you said.  They look exceedingly like, when a peep of sunshine falls.  Oh, no; not clergymen!’

She laughed at the suggestion.

She might be one of the actresses by nature.

Is the man unsympathetic with women a hater of Nature deductively?  Most women are actresses.  As to worshipping Nature, we go back to the state of heathen beast, Mr. Philosopher Gower could be answered . . . .

Fleetwood drew in his argument.  She stood before him.  There was on his part an insular representation of old French court salute to the lady, and she replied to it in the exactest measure, as if an instructed proficient.