That first repast in Endelstow Vicarage was a very agreeable one to young Stephen Smith. The table was spread, as Elfride had suggested to her father, with the materials for the heterogeneous meal called high teaвБ†вАФa class of refection welcome to all when away from men and towns, and particularly attractive to youthful palates. The table was prettily decked with winter flowers and leaves, amid which the eye was greeted by chops, chicken, pie, etc., and two huge pasties overhanging the sides of the dish with a cheerful aspect of abundance. + 

At the end, towards the fireplace, appeared the tea-service, of old-fashioned Worcester porcelain, and behind this arose the slight form of Elfride, attempting to add matronly dignity to the movement of pouring out tea, and to have a weighty and concerned look in matters of marmalade, honey, and clotted cream. Having made her own meal before he arrived, she found to her embarrassment that there was nothing left for her to do but talk when not assisting him. She asked him if he would excuse her finishing a letter she had been writing at a side-table, and, after sitting down to it, tingled with a sense of being grossly rude. However, seeing that he noticed nothing personally wrong in her, and that he too was embarrassed when she attentively watched his cup to refill it, Elfride became better at ease; and when furthermore he accidentally kicked the leg of the table, and then nearly upset his teacup, just as schoolboys did, she felt herself mistress of the situation, and could talk very well. In a few minutes ingenuousness and a common term of years obliterated all recollection that they were strangers just met. Stephen began to wax eloquent on extremely slight experiences connected with his professional pursuits; and she, having no experiences to fall back upon, recounted with much animation stories that had been related to her by her father, which would have astonished him had he heard with what fidelity of action and tone they were rendered. Upon the whole, a very interesting picture of Sweet-and-Twenty was on view that evening in Mr.¬†SwancourtвАЩs house. + 

Ultimately Stephen had to go upstairs and talk loud to the vicar, receiving from him between his puffs a great many apologies for calling him so unceremoniously to a strangerвАЩs bedroom. вАЬBut,вАЭ continued Mr.¬†Swancourt, вАЬI felt that I wanted to say a few words to you before the morning, on the business of your visit. OneвАЩs patience gets exhausted by staying a prisoner in bed all day through a sudden freak of oneвАЩs enemyвБ†вАФnew to me, thoughвБ†вАФfor I have known very little of gout as yet. However, heвАЩs gone to my other toe in a very mild manner, and I expect heвАЩll slink off altogether by the morning. I hope you have been well attended to downstairs?вАЭ + 

вАЬPerfectly. And though it is unfortunate, and I am sorry to see you laid up, I beg you will not take the slightest notice of my being in the house the while.вАЭ + 

вАЬI will not. But I shall be down tomorrow. My daughter is an excellent doctor. A dose or two of her mild mixtures will fetch me round quicker than all the drug stuff in the world. Well, now about the church business. Take a seat, do. We canвАЩt afford to stand upon ceremony in these parts as you see, and for this reason, that a civilized human being seldom stays long with us; and so we cannot waste time in approaching him, or he will be gone before we have had the pleasure of close acquaintance. This tower of ours is, as you will notice, entirely gone beyond the possibility of restoration; but the church itself is well enough. You should see some of the churches in this county. Floors rotten: ivy lining the walls.вАЭ + 

вАЬDear me!вАЭ + 

вАЬOh, thatвАЩs nothing. The congregation of a neighbour of mine, whenever a storm of rain comes on during service, open their umbrellas and hold them up till the dripping ceases from the roof. Now, if you will kindly bring me those papers and letters you see lying on the table, I will show you how far we have got.вАЭ + 

Stephen crossed the room to fetch them, and the vicar seemed to notice more particularly the slim figure of his visitor. + 

вАЬI suppose you are quite competent?вАЭ he said. + 

вАЬQuite,вАЭ said the young man, colouring slightly. + 

вАЬYou are very young, I fancyвБ†вАФI should say you are not more than nineteen?вАЭ + 

вАЬI am nearly twenty-one.вАЭ + 

вАЬExactly half my age; I am forty-two.вАЭ + 

вАЬBy the way,вАЭ said Mr.¬†Swancourt, after some conversation, вАЬyou said your whole name was Stephen Fitzmaurice, and that your grandfather came originally from Caxbury. Since I have been speaking, it has occurred to me that I know something of you. You belong to a well-known ancient county familyвБ†вАФnot ordinary Smiths in the least.вАЭ + 

вАЬI donвАЩt think we have any of their blood in our veins.вАЭ + 

вАЬNonsense! you must. Hand me the Landed Gentry. Now, let me see. There, Stephen Fitzmaurice SmithвБ†вАФhe lies in St.¬†MaryвАЩs Church, doesnвАЩt he? Well, out of that family sprang the Leaseworthy Smiths, and collaterally came General Sir Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith of CaxburyвБ†вАФвАЭ + 

вАЬYes; I have seen his monument there,вАЭ shouted Stephen. вАЬBut there is no connection between his family and mine: there cannot be.вАЭ + 

вАЬThere is none, possibly, to your knowledge. But look at this, my dear sir,вАЭ said the vicar, striking his fist upon the bedpost for emphasis. вАЬHere are you, Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith, living in London, but springing from Caxbury. Here in this book is a genealogical tree of the Stephen Fitzmaurice Smiths of Caxbury Manor. You may be only a family of professional men nowвБ†вАФI am not inquisitive: I donвАЩt ask questions of that kind; it is not in me to do soвБ†вАФbut it is as plain as the nose in your face that thereвАЩs your origin! And, Mr.¬†Smith, I congratulate you upon your blood; blue blood, sir; and, upon my life, a very desirable colour, as the world goes.вАЭ + 

вАЬI wish you could congratulate me upon some more tangible quality,вАЭ said the younger man, sadly no less than modestly. + 

вАЬNonsense! that will come with time. You are young: all your life is before you. Now lookвБ†вАФsee how far back in the mists of antiquity my own family of Swancourt have a root. Here, you see,вАЭ he continued, turning to the page, вАЬis Geoffrey, the one among my ancestors who lost a barony because he would cut his joke. Ah, itвАЩs the sort of us! But the story is too long to tell now. Ay, IвАЩm a poor manвБ†вАФa poor gentleman, in fact: those I would be friends with, wonвАЩt be friends with me; those who are willing to be friends with me, I am above being friends with. Beyond dining with a neighbouring incumbent or two, and an occasional chatвБ†вАФsometimes dinnerвБ†вАФwith Lord Luxellian, a connection of mine, I am in absolute solitudeвБ†вАФabsolute.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou have your studies, your books, and yourвБ†вАФdaughter.вАЭ + 

вАЬOh yes, yes; and I donвАЩt complain of poverty. Canto coram latrone. Well, Mr.¬†Smith, donвАЩt let me detain you any longer in a sick room. Ha! that reminds me of a story I once heard in my younger days.вАЭ Here the vicar began a series of small private laughs, and Stephen looked inquiry. вАЬOh, no, no! it is too badвБ†вАФtoo bad to tell!вАЭ continued Mr.¬†Swancourt in undertones of grim mirth. вАЬWell, go downstairs; my daughter must do the best she can with you this evening. Ask her to sing to youвБ†вАФshe plays and sings very nicely. Good night; I feel as if I had known you for five or six years. IвАЩll ring for somebody to show you down.вАЭ + 

вАЬNever mind,вАЭ said Stephen, вАЬI can find the way.вАЭ And he went downstairs, thinking of the delightful freedom of manner in the remoter counties in comparison with the reserve of London. + 

вАЬI forgot to tell you that my father was rather deaf,вАЭ said Elfride anxiously, when Stephen entered the little drawing-room. + 

вАЬNever mind; I know all about it, and we are great friends,вАЭ the man of business replied enthusiastically. вАЬAnd, Miss Swancourt, will you kindly sing to me?вАЭ + 

To Miss Swancourt this request seemed, what in fact it was, exceptionally point-blank; though she guessed that her father had some hand in framing it, knowing, rather to her cost, of his unceremonious way of utilizing her for the benefit of dull sojourners. At the same time, as Mr.¬†SmithвАЩs manner was too frank to provoke criticism, and his age too little to inspire fear, she was readyвБ†вАФnot to say pleasedвБ†вАФto accede. Selecting from the canterbury some old family ditties, that in years gone by had been played and sung by her mother, Elfride sat down to the pianoforte, and began, вАЬвАКвАЩTwas on the evening of a winterвАЩs day,вАЭ in a pretty contralto voice. + 

вАЬDo you like that old thing, Mr.¬†Smith?вАЭ she said at the end. + 

вАЬYes, I do much,вАЭ said StephenвБ†вАФwords he would have uttered, and sincerely, to anything on earth, from glee to requiem, that she might have chosen. + 

вАЬYou shall have a little one by De Leyre, that was given me by a young French lady who was staying at Endelstow House: + 

вАЬвАКвАШJe lвАЩai plant√©, je lвАЩai vu na√Ѓtre, + 

Ce beau rosier o√є les oiseaux,вАЩ etc.; + 

and then I shall want to give you my own favourite for the very last, ShelleyвАЩs вАШWhen the lamp is shattered,вАЩ as set to music by my poor mother. I so much like singing to anybody who really cares to hear me.вАЭ + 

Every woman who makes a permanent impression on a man is usually recalled to his mindвАЩs eye as she appeared in one particular scene, which seems ordained to be her special form of manifestation throughout the pages of his memory. As the patron Saint has her attitude and accessories in medieval illumination, so the sweetheart may be said to have hers upon the table of her true LoveвАЩs fancy, without which she is rarely introduced there except by effort; and this though she may, on further acquaintance, have been observed in many other phases which one would imagine to be far more appropriate to loveвАЩs young dream. + 

Miss ElfrideвАЩs image chose the form in which she was beheld during these minutes of singing, for her permanent attitude of visitation to StephenвАЩs eyes during his sleeping and waking hours in after days. The profile is seen of a young woman in a pale gray silk dress with trimmings of swanвАЩs-down, and opening up from a point in front, like a waistcoat without a shirt; the cool colour contrasting admirably with the warm bloom of her neck and face. The furthermost candle on the piano comes immediately in a line with her head, and half invisible itself, forms the accidentally frizzled hair into a nebulous haze of light, surrounding her crown like an aureola. Her hands are in their place on the keys, her lips parted, and trilling forth, in a tender diminuendo, the closing words of the sad apostrophe: + 

вАЬO Love, who bewailest + 

The frailty of all things here, + 

Why choose you the frailest + 

For your cradle, your home, and your bier!вАЭ + 

Her head is forward a little, and her eyes directed keenly upward to the top of the page of music confronting her. Then comes a rapid look into StephenвАЩs face, and a still more rapid look back again to her business, her face having dropped its sadness, and acquired a certain expression of mischievous archness the while; which lingered there for some time, but was never developed into a positive smile of flirtation. + 

Stephen suddenly shifted his position from her right hand to her left, where there was just room enough for a small ottoman to stand between the piano and the corner of the room. Into this nook he squeezed himself, and gazed wistfully up into ElfrideвАЩs face. So long and so earnestly gazed he, that her cheek deepened to a more and more crimson tint as each line was added to her song. Concluding, and pausing motionless after the last word for a minute or two, she ventured to look at him again. His features wore an expression of unutterable heaviness. + 

вАЬYou donвАЩt hear many songs, do you, Mr.¬†Smith, to take so much notice of these of mine?вАЭ + 

вАЬPerhaps it was the means and vehicle of the song that I was noticing: I mean yourself,вАЭ he answered gently. + 

вАЬNow, Mr.¬†Smith!вАЭ + 

вАЬIt is perfectly true; I donвАЩt hear much singing. You mistake what I am, I fancy. Because I come as a stranger to a secluded spot, you think I must needs come from a life of bustle, and know the latest movements of the day. But I donвАЩt. My life is as quiet as yours, and more solitary; solitary as death.вАЭ + 

вАЬThe death which comes from a plethora of life? But seriously, I can quite see that you are not the least what I thought you would be before I saw you. You are not critical, or experienced, orвБ†вАФmuch to mind. ThatвАЩs why I donвАЩt mind singing airs to you that I only half know.вАЭ Finding that by this confession she had vexed him in a way she did not intend, she added naively, вАЬI mean, Mr.¬†Smith, that you are better, not worse, for being only young and not very experienced. You donвАЩt think my life here so very tame and dull, I know.вАЭ + 

вАЬI do not, indeed,вАЭ he said with fervour. вАЬIt must be delightfully poetical, and sparkling, and fresh, andвБ†вАФвАЭ + 

вАЬThere you go, Mr.¬†Smith! Well, men of another kind, when I get them to be honest enough to own the truth, think just the reverse: that my life must be a dreadful bore in its normal state, though pleasant for the exceptional few days they pass here.вАЭ + 

вАЬI could live here always!вАЭ he said, and with such a tone and look of unconscious revelation that Elfride was startled to find that her harmonies had fired a small Troy, in the shape of StephenвАЩs heart. She said quickly: + 

вАЬBut you canвАЩt live here always.вАЭ + 

вАЬOh no.вАЭ And he drew himself in with the sensitiveness of a snail. + 

ElfrideвАЩs emotions were sudden as his in kindling, but the least of womanвАЩs lesser infirmitiesвБ†вАФlove of admirationвБ†вАФcaused an inflammable disposition on his part, so exactly similar to her own, to appear as meritorious in him as modesty made her own seem culpable in her. + 