“There!” Mrs. Lovell gave Algernon another smile.  “You have to bear the sins of your rector, as well as your own.  Can you support it?”

The flimsy fine dialogue was a little above Algernon’s level in the society of ladies; but he muttered, bowing, that he would endeavour to support it, with Mrs. Lovell’s help, and this did well enough; after which, the slight strain on the intellects of the assemblage relaxed, and ordinary topics were discussed.  The carriages came round to the door; gloves, parasols, and scent-bottles were securely grasped; whereupon the squire, standing bare-headed on the steps, insisted upon seeing the party of the opposition off first, and waited to hand Mrs. Lovell into her carriage, an ironic gallantry accepted by the lady with serenity befitting the sacred hour.

“Ah! my pencil, to mark the text for you, squire,” she said, taking her seat; and Algernon turned back at her bidding, to get a pencil; and she, presenting a most harmonious aspect in the lovely landscape, reclined in the carriage as if, like the sweet summer air, she too were quieted by those holy bells, while the squire stood, fuming, bareheaded, and with boiling blood, just within the bounds of decorum on the steps.  She was more than his match.

She was more than a match for most; and it was not a secret.  Algernon knew it as well as Edward, or any one.  She was a terror to the soul of the youth, and an attraction.  Her smile was the richest flattery he could feel; the richer, perhaps, from his feeling it to be a thing impossible to fix.  He had heard tales of her; he remembered Edward’s warning; but he was very humbly sitting with her now, and very happy.

“I’m in for it,” he said to his fair companion; “no cheque for me next quarter, and no chance of an increase.  He’ll tell me I’ve got a salary.  A salary!  Good Lord! what a man comes to!  I’ve done for myself with the squire for a year.”

“You must think whether you have compensation,” said the lady, and he received it in a cousinly squeeze of his hand.

He was about to raise the lank white hand to his lips.

“Ah!” she said, “there would be no compensation to me, if that were seen;” and her dainty hand was withdrawn.  “Now, tell me,” she changed her tone.  “How do the loves prosper?”

Algernon begged her not to call them ‘loves.’  She nodded and smiled.

“Your artistic admirations,” she observed.  “I am to see her in church, am I not?  Only, my dear Algy, don’t go too far.  Rustic beauties are as dangerous as Court Princesses.  Where was it you saw her first?”

“At the Bank,” said Algernon.

“Really! at the Bank!  So your time there is not absolutely wasted.  What brought her to London, I wonder?”

“Well, she has an old uncle, a queer old fellow, and he’s a sort of porter—­money porter—­in the Bank, awfully honest, or he might half break it some fine day, if he chose to cut and run.  She’s got a sister, prettier than this girl, the fellows say; I’ve never seen her.  I expect I’ve seen a portrait of her, though.”