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‘I’ve just been down to make sure of some of you slippery folks for the sewing-meeting,’ she said, shaking hands with Mynors, and including both him and Willie Price in an embracing maternal smile. She was short-sighted and did not perceive Agnes, who had fallen back.

‘Had a good class this afternoon, Henry?’ Mrs. Sutton’s breathing was short and quick.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘very good indeed.’

‘You’re doing a grand work.’

‘We had over seventy present,’ he added.

‘Eh!’ she said, ‘I make nothing of numbers, Henry. I meant a good class. Doesn’t it say— Where two or three are gathered together…? But I must be getting on. The horse will be restless. I’ve to go up to Hillport before tea. Mrs. Clayton Vernon is ill.’

Scarcely having stopped in her active course, Mrs. Sutton drew the men along with her down the yard, she and Mynors in rapid talk: Willie Price fell a little to the rear, his big hands half-way into his pockets and his eyes diffidently roving. It appeared as though he could not find courage to take a share in the conversation, yet was anxious to convince himself of his right to do so.

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