too obvious. For this sandy plateau, strewn with satiny
pine-needles, was the very horizon that had looked so blue and
beckoning from the little house by the pond. Not far away was the
great Airedale estate, which Gissing had known only at an
admiring distance--and now he was living there as an honoured
guest.

The Bishop had taken him to call upon the Airedales; and they,
delighted that the chapel was to be re-opened, had insisted upon
his staying with them. The chapel, in fact, was a special
interest with Mr. Airedale, who had been a leading contributor
toward its erection. Gissing was finding that life seemed to be
continually putting him into false positions; and now he
discovered, somewhat to his chagrin, that the lovely little
shrine of St. Spitz, whose stained windows glowed like rubies in
its cloister of dark trees, was rather a fashionable hobby among
the wealthy landowners of Dalmatian Hills. It had been closed all
summer, and they had missed it. The Bishop, in his airy and
indefinite way, had not made it quite plain that Gissing was only
a lay reader; and in spite of his embarrassed disclaimers, he
found himself introduced by Mr. Airedale to the country-house
clique as the new "vicar."

But at any rate it was lucky that the Airedales had insisted on
taking him in as a guest; for he had learned from the Bishop
(just as the latter was leaving) that there was no stipend
attached to the office of lay reader. Fortunately he still had
much of the money he had saved from his salary as General
Manager. And whatever sense of anomaly he felt was quickly
assuaged by the extraordinary comfort and novelty of his