His heart beat fast; his feeling towards her had never been so strong or so distinct as since her refusal to kiss the ‘candlestick.’  He was on the point of speaking, of saying something explicitly tender, when the wooden trencher which the party were using at their play, came bowling between him and Sylvia, and spun out its little period right betwixt them.  Every one was moving from chair to chair, and when the bustle was over Sylvia was seated at some distance from him, and he left standing outside the circle, as if he were not playing.  In fact, Sylvia had unconsciously taken his place as actor in the game while he remained spectator, and, as it turned out, an auditor of a conversation not intended for his ears.  He was wedged against the wall, close to the great eight-day clock, with its round moon-like smiling face forming a ludicrous contrast to his long, sallow, grave countenance, which was pretty much at the same level above the sanded floor.  Before him sat Molly Brunton and one of her sisters, their heads close together in too deep talk to attend to the progress of the game.  Philip’s attention was caught by the words—­

‘I’ll lay any wager he kissed her when he ran off into t’ parlour.’

‘She’s so coy she’d niver let him,’ replied Bessy Corney.

‘She couldn’t help hersel’; and for all she looks so demure and prim now’ (and then both heads were turned in the direction of Sylvia), ‘I’m as sure as I’m born that Charley is not t’ chap to lose his forfeit; and yet yo’ see he says nought more about it, and she’s left off being ‘feared of him.’

There was something in Sylvia’s look, ay, and in Charley Kinraid’s, too, that shot conviction into Philip’s mind.  He watched them incessantly during the interval before supper; they were intimate, and yet shy with each other, in a manner that enraged while it bewildered Philip.  What was Charley saying to her in that whispered voice, as they passed each other?  Why did they linger near each other?  Why did Sylvia look so dreamily happy, so startled at every call of the game, as if recalled from some pleasant idea?  Why did Kinraid’s eyes always seek her while hers were averted, or downcast, and her cheeks all aflame?  Philip’s dark brow grew darker as he gazed.  He, too, started when Mrs. Corney, close at his elbow, bade him go in to supper along with some of the elder ones, who were not playing; for the parlour was not large enough to hold all at once, even with the squeezing and cramming, and sitting together on chairs, which was not at all out of etiquette at Monkshaven.  Philip was too reserved to express his disappointment and annoyance at being thus arrested in his painful watch over Sylvia; but he had no appetite for the good things set before him, and found it hard work to smile a sickly smile when called upon by Josiah Pratt for applause at some country joke.  When supper was ended, there was some little discussion between Mrs. Corney and her son-in-law as to whether the different individuals