Chapter 18 - Page 2

inflicting such a horribly dull discourse on you."

"You should be the last person to say that," she returned. "You might
easily have made your sermon interesting--to _me_ I mean; but I
should not have thought better of you if you had done so."

"Thanks for that. I am sometimes troubled with the thought that I made a
mistake in going into the Church, and the doubt troubled me this evening
when I was in the pulpit--more than it has ever done before."

She made no reply to this speech until Fan moved a few feet away to read
a half-obliterated inscription she had been vainly studying for a minute
or two. Then she said, looking at him:

"I cannot imagine, Mr. Northcott, why you should select me to say this
to."

"Can you not? And yet I have a fancy that it would not be so very hard
for you to find a reason. I have been accustomed to mix with people who
read and think and write, and to discuss things freely with them, and I
cannot forget for a single hour of my waking life that the old order has
changed, and that we are drifting I know not whither. I do not wish to
ignore this in the pulpit, and yet to avoid offending I am compelled to
do so--to withdraw myself from the vexed present and look only at ancient
things through ancient eyes. I know that you can understand and enter
into that feeling, Miss Churton--you alone, perhaps, of all who came to
church this evening; is it too much to look for a little sympathy from
you in such a case?"

She had listened with eyes cast down, slowly swinging the end of her
sunshade over the green grass blades.

"I do sympathise with you, Mr. Northcott," she returned, "but at the same
time I scarcely think you ought to expect it, unless it be out of
gratitude for your kindness to me."

"Gratitude! It hurts me to hear that word. I am glad, however, that you
sympathise, but why ought I not to expect it? Will you tell me?"

"Yes, if it is necessary. I cannot pretend to respect your motives for
ignoring questions you consider so important, and which occupy your
thoughts so much. If your heart is really with the thinkers, and your
desire to be in the middle of the fight, why do you rest here in the
shade out of it all, explaining old parables to a set of sleepy villagers
who do not know that there is a battle, and have never heard of
Evolution?"

He listened with a flush on his cheeks, and there was trouble mingled
with the admiration his eyes expressed; but when she finished speaking he
dropped them again. Before he could frame a reply Mrs. Churton joined
them, whereupon he shook hands and left them, only remarking to Constance
in a low voice, "I