and an invalid who will probably outlive them all;
that is, I believe, the state of the case."

"Dear me, what a pity!" said the Rector, "for our little Elinor would
have made a sweet little Countess. She would grow a noble lady, like the
one in Mr. Tennyson's poem. Well, now I must be going, and I am
extremely glad to have been so lucky as to come in just in time. It has
been the greatest pleasure to me to see them together--such a loving
couple. Dear me, like what one reads about, or remembers in old days,
not like the commonplace pairs one has to do with now."

Mrs. Dennistoun accompanied the Rector to the garden gate. She was half
inclined to laugh and half to be angry, and in neither mood did Mr.
Hudson's insinuations which he made so innocently have much effect
upon her mind. But when she took leave of him at the gate and came
slowly back among her brilliant flower-beds, pausing here and there
mechanically to pick off a withered leaf or prop up the too heavy head
of a late rose; her mind began to take another turn. She had always been
conscious of an instinctive suspicion in respect to her daughter's
lover. Probably only, she said to herself, because he was her daughter's
lover, and she was jealous of the new devotion that withdrew from her so
completely the young creature who had been so fully her own. That is a
hard trial for a woman to undergo. It is only to be borne when she, too,
is fascinated by her future son-in-law, as happens in some fortunate
cases. Otherwise, a woman with an only child is an alarming critic to
encounter. She was not fascinated at all by Phil. She was disappointed
in Elinor, and almost thought her child not so perfect as she had
believed, when it proved that she could be fascinated by this man. She
disliked almost everything about him--his looks, the very air which the
Rector thought so aristocratic, his fondness for Elinor, which was not
reverential enough to please the mother, and his indifference, nay,
contempt, for herself, which was not calculated to please any woman. She
had been roused into defence of him in anger at the interference, and at
the insinuation which had no proof; but as that anger died away, other
thoughts came into her mind. She began to put the broken facts together
which already had roused her to suspicion: his sudden arrival, so
unexpected; walking from the station--a long, very long walk--carrying
his own bag, which was a thing John Tatham did, but not like Phil