On the Sunday after their arrival, Mr Primrose and his daughter made their appearance at church, and the people of the village stared at them of course. The rector of Smatterton preached one of his best sermons, and in his best style. The eloquence was lost upon all his audience, except Mr Primrose and his daughter; they attended to the preacher, and the rest of the congregation attended to them.

When the service was over, Penelope took her father to look at the monument which had been raised in the churchyard to the memory of Dr Greendale. It was a very handsome monument, and had been put up at the expense of the Earl of Smatterton. There was a very long and elaborate eulogium on the deceased, which had been drawn up, it is supposed, by Mr Darnley, but subsequently corrected and altered by the Earl of Smatterton in the first instance, and in the next by the stone-mason.

Mr Primrose had been so long out of England that, for aught he knew to the contrary, it might be the fashion now to write nonsense on grave stones. There was however a kind intention, and Mr Primrose was pleased with it. While the father and daughter were thus mournfully enjoying the contemplation of this memorial of their deceased relative’s virtues, the great boys and girls of the village who had been in the habit of bowing and curtseying to Penelope, and who remembered that their homage had been graciously received while she lived there under her uncle’s roof, now thronged almost rudely round them, as if with a view of attracting the lady’s notice.

For a little while Penelope was too much taken up to notice them; but when her curiosity had been gratified, and her feelings had been indulged by a few gentle and stainless tears shed to the memory of her departed benefactor, she turned round and took particular notice of such as she remembered. She asked them such questions as occurred to her concerning their respective families and occupations, and she heard many an old story repeated concerning the aged and infirm. Enquiries were made by Penelope after grandfathers and grandmothers, and in one or two instances of great grandmothers. These enquiries were copiously or sheepishly answered, according to the several tastes and habits of the persons answering them.

There was one little girl in the group whose face Penelope did not recollect. The child looked very earnestly at her, and seemed several times as if about to make an effort to speak, but awe held her back. With her, and as if urging her on to speak, was another and greater girl. And the greater girl moved the little one towards Miss Primrose, and the poor little girl coloured up to the eyes; but she had gone too far to retract, and she was emboldened at last by Penelope’s kind looks to make a very pretty curtsey and say, “Please Miss—”

The poor thing could get no farther, till Penelope relieved her embarrassment by taking hold of her hand and saying, “Well, my dear, what have you to say to me? I have no recollection that I have ever seen you before. How long have you lived at Smatterton?”

Then the little one was emboldened to speak, and she told Penelope that she had but recently come there, and that she had taken the liberty to speak, because she had some few weeks ago picked up a letter directed to Miss Primrose.

Hereupon the girl drew from her pocket a handkerchief which was carefully folded up, and when with great ceremony the handkerchief was unfolded, a letter made its appearance, which did not seem to have required much careful enveloping to keep it clean. It was miserably dirty, and the direction was barely visible. Penelope wondered indeed that the child had been able to make out the inscription, so far as to ascertain to whom it was addressed; but the hand-writing was so manifestly Robert Darnley’s, that the young lady felt too much emotion and too eager a curiosity to wait to ask any farther particulars of the mode, place and time in which the letter was found. Only waiting to ask the child her name and place of abode, and to make such acknowledgment as is expected in such cases, Penelope hastened home full of contending and harassing thoughts, unable to form the slightest conjecture of a satisfactory nature concerning this strange occurrence.

Now this letter, together with that which Robert Darnley had written to Mr Primrose, and which Mr Primrose gave to his daughter for her perusal, set the question completely at rest in the mind of Penelope, and assured her that the young gentleman had not by any neglect designed to break off the correspondence.

But when one difficulty was removed, another started up in its place. There was something very remarkable in a letter being dropped out of the bag; but though it was barely possible that such mishap might have befallen one letter, it was by no means a supposable case that several letters in succession passing between the same persons should all have met with the same accident. In the interruption of these letters there was clearly design and intention; but what was the design, or who was the designer, Penelope could not conjecture. Her suspicions could not find an object to rest upon; she was not aware of having any enemies, and of course she could not imagine that any one but an enemy could have behaved so cruelly. She concluded, therefore, as far as in such a case any conclusion could be made, that the interruption of the correspondence must have been effected by some enemy of Robert Darnley.

It was not very pleasant to have the idea of some concealed and unascertained enemy, but there was something gratifying to Penelope in having discovered that verily the cessation of the correspondence had not been voluntary on the part of her lover. Therefore, as it appeared from the letter which had been picked up that the young gentleman had not ceased to write, even after he had some ground to fear that the correspondence was discontinued by the young lady, and as it was also manifest from the letter addressed to Mr Primrose, that Robert Darnley was still desirous of an explanation of the young lady’s silence, Penelope could not any longer resist her father’s proposal that he should write to the young gentleman.

The answer was accordingly sent to Robert Darnley, and the explanation which he sought was amply and fully given. He was also as much puzzled as the young lady was at the circumstance of the letter being picked up, and his conjectures found no resting place. His immediate impulse was to make direct enquiry of the post-boy, and to extort from him, if possible, some account of the very remarkable fact of a correspondence actually suppressed by the failure of three letters in succession.

But there was a more interesting matter yet to attend to, and that was the meeting with Penelope after a long absence and an interrupted correspondence. Robert Darnley knew his father’s temperament, and felt a difficulty in mentioning the subject to him, but still he could not think of renewing the acquaintance with a view to marriage, without explicitly informing his father of the intention.

Mr Primrose and his daughter had now been at Smatterton a few days, and as the two villages were so remarkably intimate with each other, it was impossible for anything to take place in the one without its being known in the other. The arrival of the parties had been made known, as we have seen, at the rectory of Neverden, and apprehensions were entertained by the daughters of Mr Darnley that their father would be grievously liberal of his wise exhortations to his yet enamoured son. And when two or three days had passed away, and not a word of public notice had been taken of the fact in the family of the rector, the young ladies began to please themselves with the hope that no notice would be taken of the matter, and they trusted that some circumstance or other might remove Penelope again, and finally, from Smatterton; or, as they thought it not unlikely, their brother might soon fix his affections elsewhere.

It was very clear to the young ladies that Miss Glossop, notwithstanding her recent disappointment, was something of an admirer of their brother; and it was obvious that Sir George Aimwell was desirous of cultivating an acquaintance between the parties. The worthy baronet was unusually eloquent in praising Miss Glossop, and mightily ingenious in discovering innumerable, and to other eyes undiscernible, good qualities in his fair kinswoman. But though Sir George was a magistrate and a game preserver, he was no conjurer. He was not aware that there could exist any diversities of taste; but he seemed to imagine that those qualities which were agreeable to himself must be agreeable to everybody else; and when he was descanting on the multitudinous excellences of Miss Glossop, and describing her to Robert Darnley as possessing every possible and impossible virtue, he did not see that the young man’s mind was of a complexion widely different from his own. It was not therefore to this young lady that the daughters of the rector of Neverden looked forward as the person likely to liberate them from Miss Primrose.

Their hope was altogether of an undefined nature. They merely hoped and trusted that something would occur to relieve them from their present uncomfortable condition. This undefined hope is, perhaps, after all the best that we can entertain. It may appear not very rational, but we have a notion that in serious truth it is a great deal more rational than that hope which seems to have a foundation in something probable: for it is in the very nature and condition of earthly events, that they almost invariably disappoint expectation and miserably mock our sagacity. If therefore our hopes be of something definite, they will be almost assuredly disappointed; but if we only hope generally and indefinitely that something, we know not what, may occur to remove the cause of our troubles, we may have a much better chance that we shall not be disappointed. The chances in our favor are thus indefinitely multiplied.

The hope of the young ladies, that nothing would be said about Miss Primrose because nothing had been said about her for several days, was disappointed on the very morning that Mr Primrose sent his answer to Robert Darnley, explaining the cause of the suspension of the correspondence. The note from Mr Primrose was brought to Neverden by the trusty servant and universal genius who performed at Smatterton rectory the various duties of footman, groom, gardener, butler, stable-boy, and porter.

Mr Darnley, whose eyes were ever vigilant, no sooner saw the messenger than he conjectured what was the object of his coming; that is, he so far conjectured as to form an idea that the note was with reference to Miss Primrose. When therefore the reverend gentleman heard that a note was actually brought from Smatterton rectory, and addressed to Mr Robert Darnley, the feeling of curiosity was strongly excited to know what was the object of the said note. But, to say nothing of curiosity, the elder Mr Darnley felt that it was his duty to be acquainted with all correspondence carried on with persons under his roof, especially with members of his own family.

Impelled then by a double motive—the power of curiosity and a sense of duty—the rector of Neverden very peremptorily commanded the attendance of his son in the study. The command was as promptly obeyed as it had been authoritatively given.

“You have had a note from Smatterton this morning?” said the father.

“I have, sir,” replied the son steadily, but respectfully.

“And may I be permitted to know the contents of that communication?”

“Most assuredly, sir,” replied the young gentleman: “I intended to acquaint you with its contents as soon as I had read it.”

Robert Darnley then handed the paper to his father, who perused it with eager haste and anxious excitement. Rapidly however as the rector read the communication, he discerned two facts which made him angry, and, as he said, astonished. We have observed that the astonishment rests upon the testimony only of Mr Darnley’s own saying; and we have made that observation, because we think that Mr Darnley was not strictly correct in his assertion: we do not believe that Mr Darnley was at all astonished at those facts. He was no doubt angry when he discovered that his son had written to Mr Primrose; and there is nothing incredible in the idea that he was angry at the anticipation of a renewal of the acquaintance between his son and Miss Primrose. But he was not astonished at these things, and he ought not to have said that he was. It is however a very common practice, for the sake of giving pathos and effect to moral exhortation or expostulation, to express an astonishment which is not felt. This is a species of lying, and Mrs Opie would certainly set it down as such.

Mr Darnley not only said that he was astonished, but absolutely affected to look astonished. But that dramatic species of visual rebuke was by no means adapted to produce an impression on Mr Darnley the younger; and had the trick been played off by any one else than a parent, the young gentleman would certainly have laughed. It has been often observed, that children are much more knowing than is generally supposed, and the same observation may be applied to children of a larger growth. But parents cannot well help considering their children as always children.

“And so,” said the rector of Neverden, “you have actually had the folly to write to Mr Primrose, and to endeavour to renew an acquaintance which was clearly and positively broken off by Miss Primrose herself?”

“I think, sir,” responded with much gentleness the rector’s son, “that, if you read this note attentively, you will see that Miss Primrose did not positively break the acquaintance, but that by some means, as yet unknown, the letters which should have passed between us were intercepted. Proof of that is given in the singular circumstance, that the last letter which I wrote to Smatterton from India was the other day picked up by a child.”

Mr Darnley smiled a smile of incredulity and compassionate condescension.

“Foolish boy,” said he, “and can you suffer yourself to be so easily deceived as to believe this story?”

“Surely you will not go so far as to say that Miss Primrose would descend to the meanness of asserting an untruth.”

“I am asserting nothing concerning Miss Primrose. This note is not her’s, it is her father’s; and I do know that Mr Primrose can use profane language; I have heard him. And would such a man hesitate at untruth for the sake of an establishment for his daughter? Besides what can be more clear than that, now the negotiation with Lord Spoonbill is broken off, they are very willing to apply to you again.”

There is great power in imagination. Mr Darnley had taken it into his head that Penelope had really been simple enough to admire Lord Spoonbill, and vain enough to aspire to title on the strength of personal beauty. She was what is commonly called a fine young woman, and there was in her deportment, especially in the season of health and spirits, while her uncle lived, a certain constitutional magnificence of manner which might easily bear the name of pride and haughtiness. Now as Mr Darnley was himself a proud man, he did not like pride; and there is nothing at all paradoxical or inconsistent in this. It is perfectly natural that those who feel a pleasure in looking down on others and being looked up to, should not be pleased with such as indulge them not in their favourite occupation.

There had not indeed ever been in the behaviour of Penelope towards Mr Darnley anything actually disrespectful; but Mr Darnley could see that her spirit was high and essentially unsubmissive. He had therefore always called her proud; and as soon as any suspicion arose of the withdrawing of her affections from Robert Darnley, immediately the father concluded that this change was owing to the young lady’s pride aspiring to the hand of Lord Spoonbill; and when she went to London to the Countess, then his suspicion seemed corroborated; and when she returned to Smatterton, and when Mr Primrose sent the note in question to Neverden, then did Mr Darnley feel himself assured that the young lady had been disappointed in her calculations concerning Lord Spoonbill, and that now she repented her folly in renouncing the hand of Robert Darnley, and wished to recall the affection which she had spurned.

Under such persuasion, from which not all the logic in the world could move him, he smiled at the credulity and the weakness of the young man, while the young man was equally astonished and grieved at the immovable obstinacy of his father. Such cases sometimes occur, and perplexing are they when they do occur, in which a son bearing all possible respect towards a father feels himself yet justified in the court of his own conscience in acting contrary to his father’s will. Thus situated was the son of the rector of Neverden. He found that it would be in vain to use any arguments, and he was firm in his intention of taking the earliest opportunity of acknowledging the receipt of Mr Primrose’s letter, and of expressing his full determination to renew the acquaintance with Penelope. So far was the young man from participating in his father’s suspicions, that the very arguments which the father had used, and the particulars which he had stated, did but strengthen his own opinion of the purity and correctness of the young lady’s conduct; and when he considered the circumstances under which she had been placed, he felt a degree of pity for her, and he pitied her also that she laboured under those untoward and unfounded suspicions which had been excited by the idle tongue of Zephaniah Pringle.

It became in fact to Robert Darnley a matter of conscience to rectify all misunderstandings as early as possible. Without therefore affecting to enter into any elaborate discussion with his father, he merely replied to what had been said: “I cannot say that I view this affair in the same light that you do, sir; and I am satisfied that if you had a knowledge of all the facts, you would not have reason to blame Miss Primrose. I will not pretend to argue with you, or to presume to put my knowledge of the world in competition with yours. But I must take the liberty to say firmly, though respectfully, that it is my intention to see Mr and Miss Primrose, and if I find that Penelope is still the same amiable and pure-minded young woman as she was when I first made her an offer of my hand, I will repeat that offer; and I am convinced your prejudice will wear off, if not by my arguments, at least they will give way to the young lady’s real excellence of character.”

Mr Darnley was not accustomed to be contradicted. Neither his wife nor his daughters ever disputed his will, or affected to oppose their logic to his determinations. Of his son’s obedience and gentleness of disposition he had always entertained the highest opinion, and with reason: but he forgot that everything has its limits, and there is a point beyond which compliance and obedience cannot go. If Mr Darnley had said at the close of his son’s last speech, “I am astonished,” he would have spoken truly. He was indeed astonished, but he was not frightened out of his propriety; he was rather frightened into propriety.

For a few seconds he was absolutely speechless and almost breathless. But soon respiration returned, and the power of speech returned with it; and his momentary gasp of astonishment gave him time for consideration. He considered in that brief interval that he had no more power over his son than his son chose to give him, and he thought it a pity to endanger his influence by attempting to retain his authority. Subduing himself, he replied:

“If you will be obstinate there is no help for it. But I could wish that you would listen to reason.”

Thus speaking, Mr Darnley left the apartment, angry but endeavouring to keep himself calm.