stian Moxey's
speech, which had a languid elegance worth imitating in certain
particulars. Buckland Warricombe was rather a careless talker, but it
was the carelessness of a man who had never needed to reflect on such a
matter, the refinement of whose enunciation was assured to him from the
nursery. That now was a thing to be aimed at. Preciseness must be
avoided, for in a young man it seemed to argue conscious effort: a
loose sentence now and then, a colloquialism substituted for the more
grammatical phrase.

Heaven be thanked that he was unconcerned on the point of garb!
Inferiority in that respect would have been fatal to his ease. His
clothes were not too new, and in quality were such as he had the habit
of wearing. The Warricombes must have immediately detected any
pretentiousness, were it but in a necktie; that would impress them more
unfavourably than signs of poverty. But he defied inspection. Not
Sidwell herself, doubtless sensitive in the highest degree, could
conceive a prejudice against him on this account.

His misgivings were overcome. If these people were acquainted with the
'dining-rooms' joke, it certainly did not affect their behaviour to
him, and he could hope, by the force of his personality, to obliterate
from their minds such disagreeable thoughts as they might secretly
entertain. Surely he could make good his claim to be deemed a
gentleman. To Buckland he had declared his position, and no shame
attached to it. A man of scientific tastes, like Mr. Warricombe, must
consider it respectable enough. Grant him a little time, and why should
he not become a recognised friend of this family?

If he were but resident in Exeter.

For the first time, he lost himself in abstraction, and only an inquiry
from Sidwell recalled him.

'You have seen the Cathedral, Mr. Peak?'

'Oh yes! I attended service there yesterday morning.'

Had he reflected, perhaps he would not have added this circumstance;
even in speaking he suffered a confused doubtfulness. But as soon as
the words were uttered, he felt strangely glad. Sidwell bestowed upon
him an unmistakable look of approval; her mother gazed with colder
interest; Mr. Warricombe regarded him, and mused; Buckland, a smile of
peculiar meaning on his close lips, glanced from him to Miss Moorhouse.

'Ah, then, you heard Canon Grayling,' remarked the father of the
family, with something in his tone which answered to Sidwell's facial
expression. 'How did you like hi