Whatever the earl’s inferiors did, their inferior station was not suffered to discolour it for his judgement.  But an increasing antagonism to Woodseer’s philosophy—­which the fellow carried through with perpetual scorings of satisfaction—­caused him to set a hard eye on the damsel under the grisly spotting shadow of the sottish bruiser, of whom, after once touching the beast, he could not rub his hands clean; and he chose to consider the winning of the prize-fighter’s lass the final triumph or flag on the apex of the now despised philosophy.  Vain to ask how he had come to be mixed up with the lot, or why the stolidly conceited, pretentious fellow had seat here, as by right, beside him!  We sow and we reap; ‘plant for sugar and taste the cane,’ some one says—­this Woodseer, probably; he can, when it suits him, tickle the ears of the worldlings.  And there is worthier stuff to remember; stuff to nourish:  Feltre’s ‘wisdom of our fathers,’ rightly named Religion.

More in the country, when he traversed sweep and rise of open land, Carinthia’s image began to shine, and she threw some of her light on Madge, who made Woodseer appear tolerable, sagacious, absurdly enviable, as when we have the fit to wish we were some four-foot.  The fellow’s philosophy wore a look of practical craft.

He was going to the girl he liked, and she was, one could swear, an honest girl; and she was a comely girl, a girl to stick to a man.  Her throwing over a sot was creditable.  Her mistress loved her.  That said much for any mortal creature.  Man or woman loved by Carinthia could not be cowardly, could not be vile, must have high qualities.  Next to Religion, she stood for a test of us.  Had she any strong sense of Religion, in addition to the formal trooping to one of their pallid Protestant churches?  Lord Feltre might prove useful to her.  For merely the comprehension of the signification of Religion steadies us.  It had done that for him, the earl owned.

He broke a prolonged silence by remarking to Gower ’You haven’t much to say to-day’; and the answer was ’Very little.  When I’m walking, I’m picking up; and when I’m driving, I’m putting together.’

Gower was rallied on the pursuit of the personal object in both cases.  He pointed at sheep, shepherd, farmer, over the hedge, all similarly occupied; and admitted shamelessly, that he had not a thought for company, scarce a word to fling.  ’Ideas in gestation are the dullest matter you can have.’

‘There I quite agree with you,’ said Fleetwood.  Abrane, Chummy Potts, Brailstone, little Corby, were brighter comrades.  And these were his Ixionides!  Hitherto his carving of a way in the world had been sufficiently ill-considered.  Was it preferable to be a loutish philosopher?  Since the death of Ambrose Mallard, he felt Woodseer’s title for that crew grind harshly; and he tried to provoke a repetition of it, that he might burst out in wrathful defence of his friends—­to be named friends when they were vilified:  defence of poor Ambrose at least, the sinner who, or one as bad, might have reached to pardon through the priesthood.