The Church people were shocked with the
Mays for harbouring Dissenters under any circumstances whatever, and
there had not been a Minister at Salem Chapel for a long time so
unpopular as Horace Northcote, who was always "engaged" when any of the
connection asked him to tea, and preached sermons which went over their
heads, and did not remember them when he met them in the street. Tozer
was about the only one of the congregation who stood up for the young
man. The others thanked Heaven that "he was but tempory," and on the
whole they were right, for certainly he was out of place in his present
post.

As for Clarence Copperhead, he led an agreeable life enough among all
these undercurrents of feeling, which he did not recognise with any
distinctness. He was comfortable enough, pleased with his own
importance, and too obtuse to perceive that he bored his companions; and
then he considered himself to be slightly "sweet upon" both the girls.
Ursula was his favourite in the morning, when he embarrassed her much by
persistently seeking her company whenever liberated by her father; but
Phoebe was the queen of the evening, when he would get his fiddle with an
unfailing complacency which drove Reginald frantic. Whether it was mere
good-nature or any warmer impulse, Phoebe was strangely tolerant of these
fiddlings, and would go on playing for hours with serene composure,
never tired and never impatient. Yet poor Clarence was not an
accompanyist to be coveted. He was weak in the ear and defective in
science, but full of a cheerful confidence which was as good as genius.

"Never mind, Miss Phoebe," he would say cheerfully, when he had broken
down for the twentieth time, "play on and I'll catch you up." He had
thus a series of trysting places in every page or two, which might have
been very laughable to an indifferent spectator, but which aggravated
the Mays, father and son, to an intolerable extent. They were the two
who suffered. As for Horace Northcote, who was not a great talker, it
was a not disagreeable shield for his silent contemplation of Ursula,
and the little things which from time to time he ventured to say to her.
For conversation he had not the thirst which animated Reginald, and
Ursula's talk, though lively and natural, was not like Phoebe's; but
while the music went on he could sit by her in a state of silent
beatitude, now and then saying something to which Ursula replied if she
was disposed, or if she was not disp