Chap­ter X – The Church fol­lows Agnes Grey’s qui­et obser­va­tions dur­ing and after a Sun­day ser­vice, bring­ing to light how per­son­al val­ues shape how one inter­prets oth­ers. It begins with the arrival of a new curate, whose pres­ence quick­ly becomes the sub­ject of spec­u­la­tion among the Mur­ray sis­ters. Dur­ing their walk home, Ros­alie inquires about Agnes’s opin­ion of him, like­ly hop­ing to val­i­date her own impres­sions. Agnes, choos­ing her words with care, admits that her focus dur­ing the ser­vice had been on his earnest deliv­ery, not his appear­ance. She appre­ci­at­ed how he read the lessons with clar­i­ty and spoke his prayers with gen­uine devo­tion. The sin­cer­i­ty in his voice stood in con­trast to the more the­atri­cal and self-serv­ing tone of Mr. Hat­field, whose pres­ence often seemed more about per­for­mance than pur­pose.

Agnes’s sub­tle praise of the new curate high­lights her appre­ci­a­tion for qui­et integri­ty over super­fi­cial charm. Her admi­ra­tion doesn’t stem from emo­tion but from a respect for hon­est effort. In a world filled with social pre­tens­es, it is this kind of authen­tic­i­ty she longs to see. Ros­alie and Matil­da, how­ev­er, focus on the curate’s lack of fash­ion and social flair. They describe him as awk­ward, almost laugh­ably so, dis­miss­ing his seri­ous­ness as dull. Agnes lis­tens, dis­ap­point­ed but not sur­prised. Their cri­te­ria for val­ue are root­ed in how some­one appears, not who they are. This dif­fer­ence in per­spec­tive rein­forces Agnes’s feel­ing of being set apart, even when she shares space with the sis­ters every day.

Lat­er, Agnes reflects pri­vate­ly on how Mr. Hat­field has always seemed more invest­ed in flat­tery and social advance­ment than in gen­uine pas­toral care. His ser­mons, full of rhetor­i­cal flour­ish­es, often leave her unmoved, as if their pur­pose were more for his image than for spir­i­tu­al nour­ish­ment. She con­trasts this with the curate’s hum­ble tone, which, though lack­ing flair, stirred a more sin­cere response. It becomes clear to her that there’s a dif­fer­ence between being admired and being respect­ed. Mr. Hat­field enjoys the for­mer; the curate, she believes, deserves the lat­ter. For Agnes, the dif­fer­ence mat­ters deeply. She is drawn not to those who enter­tain but to those who qui­et­ly live their prin­ci­ples.

The church set­ting, for Agnes, holds mean­ing beyond its social func­tion. It is a place where inten­tion and belief should mat­ter more than spec­ta­cle. Yet, in the world of the Mur­rays, it often becomes anoth­er stage for performance—where atten­dees are judged for their cloth­ing, pos­ture, or com­pan­ion­ship. Rosalie’s excite­ment over the curate is less about his moral strength and more about the nov­el­ty he brings to their rou­tine. Her teas­ing and gig­gles over his sup­posed awk­ward­ness reveal how far removed she is from the spir­i­tu­al pur­pose of wor­ship. Agnes sees it and says lit­tle, know­ing that argu­ment would change noth­ing. Her val­ues aren’t shared, but they remain firm with­in her.

The con­ver­sa­tion shifts back to light chat­ter as they return home, the sis­ters spec­u­lat­ing whether the curate is rich, con­nect­ed, or wor­thy of fur­ther pur­suit. Their voic­es bounce between curios­i­ty and van­i­ty, trans­form­ing a man of faith into a top­ic of roman­tic enter­tain­ment. Agnes watch­es this unfold with qui­et resolve. She under­stands that to them, church is more a social gath­er­ing than a sacred space. That dif­fer­ence in mind­set under­scores the broad­er chasm between their val­ues and hers. While she does not con­demn their youth­ful­ness, she rec­og­nizes the empti­ness in such pur­suits when detached from deep­er under­stand­ing.

In the qui­et of her own room, Agnes con­sid­ers how dif­fi­cult it is to hold to one’s ideals when sur­round­ed by con­stant dis­trac­tions and hol­low pri­or­i­ties. Still, she believes in the impor­tance of stay­ing anchored to some­thing sin­cere. The new curate’s mod­est demeanor offered a glimpse of that—of some­one doing good not for praise, but because it is right. That, to Agnes, is the kind of influ­ence a church fig­ure should have. The moment lingers with her, not because of how it looked, but because of how it made her feel—briefly, spir­i­tu­al­ly under­stood. Through this lens, the chap­ter becomes a qui­et asser­tion of what tru­ly mat­ters: sub­stance over style, mean­ing over appear­ance, and faith ground­ed in action rather than applause.