Chapter 15

For the rest of the day peace reigned at Wood End House. Mr. Churton,
whose absence at mealtime was never made the subject of remark, did not
return to tea when the three ladies met again; for now, according to that
proverb of the Peninsula which says "Tell me who you are with, and I will
tell you who you are," Fan had ceased to belong to the extensive genus
Young Person, and might only be classified as Young Lady, at all events
for so long as she remained on a footing of equality under the Churton
roof-tree.

There was not much conversation. Miss Churton was rather pale and subdued
in manner, speaking little. Fan was shy and ill at ease at this her first
meal in the house. Mrs. Churton alone seemed inclined to talk, and looked
serene and cheerful; but whether the late scene in the drawing-room had
been more transient in its effects in her case, or her self-command was
greater, she alone knew. After tea they all went out to sit in the garden
for an hour; Miss Churton taking a book with her, which, however, she
allowed to rest unread on her lap. Her mother had some knitting, which
occupied her fingers while she talked to Fan. The girl, she perceived,
was not yet feeling at home with them, and she tried to overcome her
diffidence by keeping up an easy flow of talk which required no answer
from the other, chiefly about their garden and its products--flowers,
fruit, and vegetables.

Presently they had a visitor, who came out across the lawn to them
unannounced. He shook hands with the Churtons, and then with Fan, to whom
he was introduced as Mr. Northcott. A large and rather somewhat rough-
looking young man was Mr. Northcott, in a clerical coat, for he was
curate of the church at Eyethorne. His head was large, and the hair and a
short somewhat disorderly beard and moustache brown in colour; the eyes
were blue, deep-set, and habitually down-cast, and had a trick of looking
suddenly up at anyone speaking to him. His nose was irregular, his mouth
too heavy, and there was that general appearance of ruggedness about him
which one usually takes as an outward sign of the stuff that makes the
successful emigrant. To find him a curate going round among the ladies in
a little rural parish in England seemed strange. He had as little of that
professional sleekness of skin and all-for-the-best placidity of manner
one expects to see in a clergyman of the Established Church as Mr.
Churton had of that confident, all-knowing, self-assured look one would
like to see in a barrister's countenance before entrusting him with a
brief.

He at once entered into conversation with Mrs. Churton, replying to some
question she put to him; and presently Fan began to listen with deep
interest, for they were discussing the