Encouraged, Charlotte said: “Yes! Though my brother says you should take hold of the bridle before you do so. But if they think you mean to hurt them, when they are for ever being cosseted and cared-for, they must be perfectly addle-brained!”

“I’m afraid they haven’t very much intelligence,” he admitted.

She opened her eyes at that. “But you like them, don’t you, sir?”

“Yes, but there is never any accounting for tastes, you know.” He smiled at Ancilla. “I collect that we share that particular taste, ma’am?”

“Mr Chartley has misled you, sir. I’m the merest whipster. Charlotte, we must not stand dawdling any longer!”

“But you will take a look in at the Rectory before you go, won’t you?” said the Rector. “Sir Waldo has been admiring our little Church, and I have promised to show him the twelfth-century piscina—our greatest pride, is it not?”

He moved away, and Sir Waldo, with a smile and a bow to the ladies, followed him. But when the flowers were arranged to Ancilla’s satisfaction, and she picked up her basket, nodded to Charlotte to come away with her, the Rector joined her, and the whole party left the Church together. Ancilla found herself walking beside Sir Waldo down the path leading to the Rectory; declined his offer to carry the basket; and asked him civilly how he liked the Yorkshire scene.

‘“Very well—as much as I have seen of it,” he replied. “As yet, that’s not very much: I have been spending most of my time in Leeds. I hope presently to see more of the countryside. My young cousin has been exploring far and wide, and is enthusiastic; says it is finer by far than his own county. That’s because the Squire has put him in the way of getting some excellent fishing.”

She laughed. “I hope he will enjoy good sport—though my small experience informs me that catching fish is not necessary for your true angler’s enjoyment.”

“Oh, no! But to lose a fish is quite another matter!”

“Certainly! One cannot wonder that it should cast even the most cheerful person into gloom, for it is always such an enormous one that escapes!”

“I begin to think you are yourself an angler, ma’am: you are so exactly right!”

“Indeed I am not! I was used to accompany my brothers sometimes, when I was a girl, but I very soon discovered that it was not at all the sport for me. When I caught nothing—which was in general the case—I found it a dead bore, and when a fish did get on my hook I was at a loss to know what to do with it, because I can’t bear handling fish! They wriggle so!”

They had reached the wicket-gate; he held it open for her, saying gravely: “They do, don’t they? So slimy, too! Almost as disagreeable as Miss Charlotte’s twitching horses!”

She stepped past him into the garden, but paused there, waiting for Charlotte and the Rector to join them. “Poor Charlotte! It was too bad of Mr Chartley to poke fun at her, for she has tried so hard to overcome her fear of horses, and is secretly much ashamed of it. Pray don’t laugh at her!”

“You may be sure I shan’t. I should be far more likely to recommend her not to give the matter another thought. Now, why do you look surprised, ma’am?”

She coloured faintly. “Did I do so? Perhaps because it did surprise me a little to hear you say that—being yourself, so I’m told, such a notable horseman.”

He raised his brows. “But must I therefore despise those who don’t care for horses?”

“No—but I have frequently observed that gentlemen who are addicted to sporting pursuits are prone to despise those whose interests are quite different.” She added quickly: “It is very understandable, I daresay!”

“I should rather call it intolerably conceited,” he replied. He regarded her quizzically. “Furthermore, ma’am, I have a notion that it is you who despises those of uswho are addicted to sport?”

“That’s to say I’m intolerably conceited,” she countered, smiling. “I am afraid I deserved it!”

They were interrupted by the Rector, who came up with Charlotte at that moment. He suggested that Sir Waldo should return to the house with them, but this was declined. Sir Waldo took his leave of the ladies, and went off with the Rector towards the stables.

Charlotte was plainly bursting to discuss the unexpected encounter, but Ancilla checked her, begging her to reserve her remarks until they should be out of earshot of her very penetrating voice. She was obedient, and listened docilely enough to a warning against any indiscreet utterance; but Ancilla knew her too well to place much reliance on her assurance that she would mind her tongue. As soon as she became excited, she would blurt out whatever thought came into her head, infallibly incurring Mrs Chartley’s deep, if unexpressed, disapproval. Mrs Chartley was a kindly woman, but her sense of propriety was strict. It was with relief that Ancilla saw her charge carried off by her friend and contemporary, Miss Jane Chartley, who came running down the stairs as soon as they had entered the house. No doubt the Rectory schoolroom would be regaled with Charlotte’s opinion of the Nonesuch, but at least her governess would not be put to the blush by her forthright speech and far from retiring manners.

In the event, when she was ushered into the parlour, Ancilla found Patience alone. She was busy with some white work, hemming a seam with the tiniest of stitches, but she gladly laid it aside when she saw Ancilla. She was quite as eager to discuss the Nonesuch as Charlotte, but being a very well brought-up girl she was much less precipitate, and spent as much as five minutes talking on indifferent topics before saying: “I must tell you that we have had such an interesting visitor this morning, Miss Trent. Papa took him to see the Church: I wonder, did you meet him there?”

“Sir Waldo? Yes, we did. Indeed, we walked back together, all four of us, and parted at the gate. Your papa went off with him then to the stables.”

“Oh, yes! He rode over to call on Papa, and then Papa brought him in to introduce him to Mama and me, and he was with us for quite half-an-hour. What did you think of him? Were you surprised? I own, I was—and Mama too, I think! All the gentlemen have been talking so much about his being such an out-and-out Corinthian that I had pictured something quite different—though I’ve never seen a Corinthian, of course. You have, I expect: is that what they are really like? Do you think he is one?”

“There can be no doubt he is: a very famous one! As for whether all Corinthians are like him, I can’t tell, for I was never acquainted with one.”

Patience said shyly: “I fancy you don’t care for that set, and I must say I never thought I should either, for one hears such things about them! But he is not in the least what I had imagined! Not proud, or—or what Dick calls a dashing blade! He was so easy, and unaffected, and well-informed; and he seems to feel just as he ought about serious matters: he and Papa talked a little of the dreadful hardships the poor people have been suffering, and I could see how pleased Papa was with him. What did you think of him, Miss Trent?”

“Oh, a diamond of the first water!” replied Ancilla promptly. “His air, one of decided fashion; his manners most polished; his address—perfection!”

Patience looked at her. “You didn’t like him?”

“On the contrary! I thought him very amiable.”

“Ah, that signifies that you think his manners amiable, but not—not his disposition!”

“My dear Miss Chartley, I know nothing about his disposition!”

“No, but—Oh, I think I must tell you! It can’t be wrong to do so! Sir Waldo hasn’t mentioned the matter, even to Papa, and we believe he would as lief it were not known, because he told Wedmore that Mr Calver had privately desired him, when the precise state of his affairs should have been ascertained, to make provision for his old servants. Even Papa doesn’t believe Mr Calver did anything of the sort! The Wedmores are to have a pension which will make them comfortable beyond anything they had hoped for: Mrs Wedmore came to tell Honeywick yesterday! You may imagine how much she was overcome—how thankful!”

“Indeed! I am very glad to know that Sir Waldo has done what he should.”

“Yes, and of course it was expected that he would. You may say that he is so wealthy that it means no more to him than it would mean to me to give a penny to a beggar, but what strikes one so particularly is the manner of it. It was done with a delicacy that shows Sir Waldo to be a man of sensibility, not above considering what must have been the feelings of two such faithful people when they discovered how little their service had been valued!”

Ancilla acknowledged it; but murmured wickedly: “He has won your heart, I see! He has great address!”

“Oh, no!” cried Patience, quite shocked. “How can you—? Oh, you are funning, but indeed you should not! I hope my heart is not so easily won!”

Ancilla smiled at her. “I hope it may not be—and certainly not by a Corinthian! Don’t look distressed! I was only funning, of course: I don’t fear for you!”

Recovering her complexion. Patience said: “We shall none of us have time to lose our hearts: he doesn’t mean to settle at Broom Hall, you know.”

“I should suppose not: he would find it very slow. Does he mean to sell the place?”

“We don’t know. He didn’t tell us what he means to do; and, naturally, one would not ask prying questions.” She looked up, as her mother came into the room, and smiled, saying: “I have been telling Miss Trent how agreeable we think Sir Waldo Hawkridge, Mama; gossiping, you will say!”

“I suppose we all gossip about him,” Mrs Chartley replied, shaking hands with Ancilla. “How do you do, Miss Trent? Yes, I must own that I was very pleasantly surprised in Sir Waldo. After the tales we have heard about the Nonesuch I had not expected to find that this Tulip of the Ton, instead of being a great coxcomb, is a man who wants neither sense nor feeling. I thought his manners particularly good, too: he has an air of well-bred ease, and no pretension—and as for his leading our sons astray, nonsense! I hope they may copy him! Indeed, I find myself regretting that Dick is at school, for he would be all the better for a little polish!”