Oppressed, in spite of themselves, by a foresight of impending complications, Elfride and Stephen returned down the hill hand in hand. At the door they paused wistfully, like children late at school. + 

Women accept their destiny more readily than men. Elfride had now resigned herself to the overwhelming idea of her loverвАЩs sorry antecedents; Stephen had not forgotten the trifling grievance that Elfride had known earlier admiration than his own. + 

вАЬWhat was that young manвАЩs name?вАЭ he inquired. + 

вАЬFelix Jethway; a widowвАЩs only son.вАЭ + 

вАЬI remember the family.вАЭ + 

вАЬShe hates me now. She says I killed him.вАЭ + 

Stephen mused, and they entered the porch. + 

вАЬStephen, I love only you,вАЭ she tremulously whispered. + 

He pressed her fingers, and the trifling shadow passed away, to admit again the mutual and more tangible trouble. + 

The study appeared to be the only room lighted up. They entered, each with a demeanour intended to conceal the inconcealable fact that reciprocal love was their dominant chord. Elfride perceived a man, sitting with his back towards herself, talking to her father. She would have retired, but Mr.¬†Swancourt had seen her. + 

вАЬCome in,вАЭ he said; вАЬit is only Martin Cannister, come for a copy of the register for poor Mrs.¬†Jethway.вАЭ + 

Martin Cannister, the sexton, was rather a favourite with Elfride. He used to absorb her attention by telling her of his strange experiences in digging up after long years the bodies of persons he had known, and recognizing them by some little sign (though in reality he had never recognized any). He had shrewd small eyes and a great wealth of double chin, which compensated in some measure for considerable poverty of nose. + 

The appearance of a slip of paper in CannisterвАЩs hand, and a few shillings lying on the table in front of him, denoted that the business had been transacted, and the tenor of their conversation went to show that a summary of village news was now engaging the attention of parishioner and parson. + 

Mr.¬†Cannister stood up and touched his forehead over his eye with his finger, in respectful salutation of Elfride, gave half as much salute to Stephen (whom he, in common with other villagers, had never for a moment recognized), then sat down again and resumed his discourse. + 

вАЬWhere had I got on to, sir?вАЭ + 

вАЬTo driving the pile,вАЭ said Mr.¬†Swancourt. + 

вАЬThe pile вАЩtwas. So, as I was saying, Nat was driving the pile in this manner, as I might say.вАЭ Here Mr.¬†Cannister held his walking-stick scrupulously vertical with his left hand, and struck a blow with great force on the knob of the stick with his right. вАЬJohn was steadying the pile so, as I might say.вАЭ Here he gave the stick a slight shake, and looked firmly in the various eyes around to see that before proceeding further his listeners well grasped the subject at that stage. вАЬWell, when Nat had struck some half-dozen blows more upon the pile, вАЩa stopped for a second or two. John, thinking he had done striking, put his hand upon the top oвАЩ the pile to gie en a pull, and see if вАЩa were firm in the ground.вАЭ Mr.¬†Cannister spread his hand over the top of the stick, completely covering it with his palm. вАЬWell, so to speak, Nat hadnвАЩt maned to stop striking, and when John had put his hand upon the pile, the beetleвБ†вАФвАЭ + 

вАЬOh dreadful!вАЭ said Elfride. + 

вАЬThe beetle was already coming down, you see, sir. Nat just caught sight of his hand, but couldnвАЩt stop the blow in time. Down came the beetle upon poor John SmithвАЩs hand, and squashed en to a pummy.вАЭ + 

вАЬDear me, dear me! poor fellow!вАЭ said the vicar, with an intonation like the groans of the wounded in a pianoforte performance of the вАЬBattle of Prague.вАЭ + 

вАЬJohn Smith, the master-mason?вАЭ cried Stephen hurriedly. + 

вАЬAy, no other; and a better-hearted man God AвАЩmighty never made.вАЭ + 

вАЬIs he so much hurt?вАЭ + 

вАЬI have heard,вАЭ said Mr.¬†Swancourt, not noticing Stephen, вАЬthat he has a son in London, a very promising young fellow.вАЭ + 

вАЬOh, how he must be hurt!вАЭ repeated Stephen. + 

вАЬA beetle couldnвАЩt hurt very little. Well, sir, good night tвАЩye; and ye, sir; and you, miss, IвАЩm sure.вАЭ + 

Mr.¬†Cannister had been making unnoticeable motions of withdrawal, and by the time this farewell remark came from his lips he was just outside the door of the room. He tramped along the hall, stayed more than a minute endeavouring to close the door properly, and then was lost to their hearing. + 

Stephen had meanwhile turned and said to the vicar: + 

вАЬPlease excuse me this evening! I must leave. John Smith is my father.вАЭ + 

The vicar did not comprehend at first. + 

вАЬWhat did you say?вАЭ he inquired. + 

вАЬJohn Smith is my father,вАЭ said Stephen deliberately. + 

A surplus tinge of redness rose from Mr.¬†SwancourtвАЩs neck, and came round over his face, the lines of his features became more firmly defined, and his lips seemed to get thinner. It was evident that a series of little circumstances, hitherto unheeded, were now fitting themselves together, and forming a lucid picture in Mr.¬†SwancourtвАЩs mind in such a manner as to render useless further explanation on StephenвАЩs part. + 

вАЬIndeed,вАЭ the vicar said, in a voice dry and without inflection. + 

This being a word which depends entirely upon its tone for its meaning, Mr.¬†SwancourtвАЩs enunciation was equivalent to no expression at all. + 

вАЬI have to go now,вАЭ said Stephen, with an agitated bearing, and a movement as if he scarcely knew whether he ought to run off or stay longer. вАЬOn my return, sir, will you kindly grant me a few minutesвАЩ private conversation?вАЭ + 

вАЬCertainly. Though antecedently it does not seem possible that there can be anything of the nature of private business between us.вАЭ + 

Mr.¬†Swancourt put on his straw hat, crossed the drawing-room, into which the moonlight was shining, and stepped out of the French window into the verandah. It required no further effort to perceive what, indeed, reasoning might have foretold as the natural colour of a mind whose pleasures were taken amid genealogies, good dinners, and patrician reminiscences, that Mr.¬†SwancourtвАЩs prejudices were too strong for his generosity, and that StephenвАЩs moments as his friend and equal were numbered, or had even now ceased. + 

Stephen moved forward as if he would follow the vicar, then as if he would not, and in absolute perplexity whither to turn himself, went awkwardly to the door. Elfride followed lingeringly behind him. Before he had receded two yards from the doorstep, Unity and Ann the housemaid came home from their visit to the village. + 

вАЬHave you heard anything about John Smith? The accident is not so bad as was reported, is it?вАЭ said Elfride intuitively. + 

вАЬOh no; the doctor says it is only a bad bruise.вАЭ + 

вАЬI thought so!вАЭ cried Elfride gladly. + 

вАЬHe says that, although Nat believes he did not check the beetle as it came down, he must have done so without knowing itвБ†вАФchecked it very considerably too; for the full blow would have knocked his hand abroad, and in reality it is only made black-and-blue like.вАЭ + 

вАЬHow thankful I am!вАЭ said Stephen. + 

The perplexed Unity looked at him with her mouth rather than with her eyes. + 

вАЬThat will do, Unity,вАЭ said Elfride magisterially; and the two maids passed on. + 

вАЬElfride, do you forgive me?вАЭ said Stephen with a faint smile. вАЬNo man is fair in love;вАЭ and he took her fingers lightly in his own. + 

With her head thrown sideways in the Greuze attitude, she looked a tender reproach at his doubt and pressed his hand. Stephen returned the pressure threefold, then hastily went off to his fatherвАЩs cottage by the wall of Endelstow Park. + 

вАЬElfride, what have you to say to this?вАЭ inquired her father, coming up immediately Stephen had retired. + 

With feminine quickness she grasped at any straw that would enable her to plead his cause. вАЬHe had told me of it,вАЭ she faltered; вАЬso that it is not a discovery in spite of him. He was just coming in to tell you.вАЭ + 

вАЬComing to tell! Why hadnвАЩt he already told? I object as much, if not more, to his underhand concealment of this, than I do to the fact itself. It looks very much like his making a fool of me, and of you too. You and he have been about together, and corresponding together, in a way I donвАЩt at all approve ofвБ†вАФin a most unseemly way. You should have known how improper such conduct is. A woman canвАЩt be too careful not to be seen alone with I-donвАЩt-know-whom.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou saw us, papa, and have never said a word.вАЭ + 

вАЬMy fault, of course; my fault. What the deuce could I be thinking of! He, a villagerвАЩs son; and we, Swancourts, connections of the Luxellians. We have been coming to nothing for centuries, and now I believe we have got there. What shall I next invite here, I wonder!вАЭ + 

Elfride began to cry at this very unpropitious aspect of affairs. вАЬO papa, papa, forgive me and him! We care so much for one another, papaвБ†вАФO, so much! And what he was going to ask you is, if you will allow of an engagement between us till he is a gentleman as good as you. We are not in a hurry, dear papa; we donвАЩt want in the least to marry now; not until he is richer. Only will you let us be engaged, because I love him so, and he loves me?вАЭ + 

Mr.¬†SwancourtвАЩs feelings were a little touched by this appeal, and he was annoyed that such should be the case. вАЬCertainly not!вАЭ he replied. He pronounced the inhibition lengthily and sonorously, so that the вАЬnotвАЭ sounded like вАЬnвАСoвАСoвАСoвАСt!вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, no, no; donвАЩt say it!вАЭ + 

вАЬFoh! A fine story. It is not enough that I have been deluded and disgraced by having him hereвБ†вАФthe son of one of my village peasantsвБ†вАФbut now I am to make him my son-in-law! Heavens above us, are you mad, Elfride?вАЭ + 

вАЬYou have seen his letters come to me ever since his first visit, papa, and you knew they were a sort ofвБ†вАФlove-letters; and since he has been here you have let him be alone with me almost entirely; and you guessed, you must have guessed, what we were thinking of, and doing, and you didnвАЩt stop him. Next to lovemaking comes love-winning, and you knew it would come to that, papa.вАЭ + 

The vicar parried this commonsense thrust. вАЬI knowвБ†вАФsince you press me soвБ†вАФI know I did guess some childish attachment might arise between you; I own I did not take much trouble to prevent it; but I have not particularly countenanced it; and, Elfride, how can you expect that I should now? It is impossible; no father in England would hear of such a thing.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut he is the same man, papa; the same in every particular; and how can he be less fit for me than he was before?вАЭ + 

вАЬHe appeared a young man with well-to-do friends, and a little property; but having neither, he is another man.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou inquired nothing about him?вАЭ + 

вАЬI went by HewbyвАЩs introduction. He should have told me. So should the young man himself; of course he should. I consider it a most dishonourable thing to come into a manвАЩs house like a treacherous I-donвАЩt-know-what.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut he was afraid to tell you, and so should I have been. He loved me too well to like to run the risk. And as to speaking of his friends on his first visit, I donвАЩt see why he should have done so at all. He came here on business: it was no affair of ours who his parents were. And then he knew that if he told you he would never be asked here, and would perhaps never see me again. And he wanted to see me. Who can blame him for trying, by any means, to stay near meвБ†вАФthe girl he loves? All is fair in love. I have heard you say so yourself, papa; and you yourself would have done just as he hasвБ†вАФso would any man.вАЭ + 

вАЬAnd any man, on discovering what I have discovered, would also do as I do, and mend my mistake; that is, get shot of him again, as soon as the laws of hospitality will allow.вАЭ But Mr.¬†Swancourt then remembered that he was a Christian. вАЬI would not, for the world, seem to turn him out of doors,вАЭ he added; вАЬbut I think he will have the tact to see that he cannot stay long after this, with good taste.вАЭ + 

вАЬHe will, because heвАЩs a gentleman. See how graceful his manners are,вАЭ Elfride went on; though perhaps StephenвАЩs manners, like the feats of Euryalus, owed their attractiveness in her eyes rather to the attractiveness of his person than to their own excellence. + 

вАЬAy; anybody can be what you call graceful, if he lives a little time in a city, and keeps his eyes open. And he might have picked up his gentlemanliness by going to the galleries of theatres, and watching stage drawing-room manners. He reminds me of one of the worst stories I ever heard in my life.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhat story was that?вАЭ + 

вАЬOh no, thank you! I wouldnвАЩt tell you such an improper matter for the world!вАЭ + 

вАЬIf his father and mother had lived in the north or east of England,вАЭ gallantly persisted Elfride, though her sobs began to interrupt her articulation, вАЬanywhere but hereвБ†вАФyouвБ†вАФwould haveвБ†вАФonly regardedвБ†вАФhim, and not them! His stationвБ†вАФwould haveвБ†вАФbeen whatвБ†вАФhis profession makes itвБ†вАФand not fixed byвБ†вАФhis fatherвАЩs humble positionвБ†вАФat all; whom he never lives withвБ†вАФnow. Though John Smith has saved lots of money, and is better off than we are, they say, or he couldnвАЩt have put his son to such an expensive profession. And it is clever andвБ†вАФhonourableвБ†вАФof Stephen, to be the best of his family.вАЭ + 

вАЬYes. вАШLet a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the kingвАЩs mess.вАЩвАКвАЭ + 

вАЬYou insult me, papa!вАЭ she burst out. вАЬYou do, you do! He is my own Stephen, he is!вАЭ + 

вАЬThat may or may not be true, Elfride,вАЭ returned her father, again uncomfortably agitated in spite of himself. вАЬYou confuse future probabilities with present factsвБ†вАФwhat the young man may be with what he is. We must look at what he is, not what an improbable degree of success in his profession may make him. The case is this: the son of a workingman in my parish who may or may not be able to buy me upвБ†вАФa youth who has not yet advanced so far into life as to have any income of his own deserving the name, and therefore of his fatherвАЩs degree as regards stationвБ†вАФwants to be engaged to you. His family are living in precisely the same spot in England as yours, so throughout this countyвБ†вАФwhich is the world to usвБ†вАФyou would always be known as the wife of Jack Smith the masonвАЩs son, and not under any circumstances as the wife of a London professional man. It is the drawback, not the compensating fact, that is talked of always. There, say no more. You may argue all night, and prove what you will; IвАЩll stick to my words.вАЭ + 

Elfride looked silently and hopelessly out of the window with large heavy eyes and wet cheeks. + 

вАЬI call it great temerityвБ†вАФand long to call it audacityвБ†вАФin Hewby,вАЭ resumed her father. вАЬI never heard such a thingвБ†вАФgiving such a hobbledehoy native of this place such an introduction to me as he did. Naturally you were deceived as well as I was. I donвАЩt blame you at all, so far.вАЭ He went and searched for Mr.¬†HewbyвАЩs original letter. вАЬHereвАЩs what he said to me: вАШDear SirвБ†вАФAgreeably to your request of the 18th instant, I have arranged to survey and make drawings,вАЩ et cetera. вАШMy assistant, Mr.¬†Stephen SmithвАЩвБ†вАФassistant, you see he called him, and naturally I understood him to mean a sort of partner. Why didnвАЩt he say вАШclerkвАЩ?вАЭ + 

вАЬThey never call them clerks in that profession, because they do not write. StephenвБ†вАФMr.¬†SmithвБ†вАФtold me so. So that Mr.¬†Hewby simply used the accepted word.вАЭ + 

вАЬLet me speak, please, Elfride! вАШMy assistant, Mr.¬†Stephen Smith, will leave London by the early train tomorrow morningвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ many thanks for your proposal to accommodate himвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ you may put every confidence in him, and may rely upon his discernment in the matter of church architecture.вАЩ Well, I repeat that Hewby ought to be ashamed of himself for making so much of a poor lad of that sort.вАЭ + 

вАЬProfessional men in London,вАЭ Elfride argued, вАЬdonвАЩt know anything about their clerksвАЩ fathers and mothers. They have assistants who come to their offices and shops for years, and hardly even know where they live. What they can doвБ†вАФwhat profits they can bring the firmвБ†вАФthatвАЩs all London men care about. And that is helped in him by his faculty of being uniformly pleasant.вАЭ + 

вАЬUniform pleasantness is rather a defect than a faculty. It shows that a man hasnвАЩt sense enough to know whom to despise.вАЭ + 

вАЬIt shows that he acts by faith and not by sight, as those you claim succession from directed.вАЭ + 

вАЬThatвАЩs some more of what heвАЩs been telling you, I suppose! Yes, I was inclined to suspect him, because he didnвАЩt care about sauces of any kind. I always did doubt a manвАЩs being a gentleman if his palate had no acquired tastes. An unedified palate is the irrepressible cloven foot of the upstart. The idea of my bringing out a bottle of my вАЩ40 MartinezвБ†вАФonly eleven of them left nowвБ†вАФto a man who didnвАЩt know it from eighteenpenny! Then the Latin line he gave to my quotation; it was very cut-and-dried, very; or I, who havenвАЩt looked into a classical author for the last eighteen years, shouldnвАЩt have remembered it. Well, Elfride, you had better go to your room; youвАЩll get over this bit of tomfoolery in time.вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, no, no, papa,вАЭ she moaned. For of all the miseries attaching to miserable love, the worst is the misery of thinking that the passion which is the cause of them all may cease. + 

вАЬElfride,вАЭ said her father with rough friendliness, вАЬI have an excellent scheme on hand, which I cannot tell you of now. A scheme to benefit you and me. It has been thrust upon me for some little timeвБ†вАФyes, thrust upon meвБ†вАФbut I didnвАЩt dream of its value till this afternoon, when the revelation came. I should be most unwise to refuse to entertain it.вАЭ + 

вАЬI donвАЩt like that word,вАЭ she returned wearily. вАЬYou have lost so much already by schemes. Is it those wretched mines again?вАЭ + 

вАЬNo; not a mining scheme.вАЭ + 

вАЬRailways?вАЭ + 

вАЬNor railways. It is like those mysterious offers we see advertised, by which any gentleman with no brains at all may make so much a week without risk, trouble, or soiling his fingers. However, I am intending to say nothing till it is settled, though I will just say this much, that you soon may have other fish to fry than to think of Stephen Smith. Remember, I wish, not to be angry, but friendly, to the young man; for your sake IвАЩll regard him as a friend in a certain sense. But this is enough; in a few days you will be quite my way of thinking. There, now, go to your bedroom. Unity shall bring you up some supper. I wish you not to be here when he comes back.вАЭ + 