‘I’ll have none o’ his kindness then,’ said Anne. She did not seem disposed for further conversation. But Meadowes persisted:— ‘You seem scarce so busy to-day.’ ‘No more I am, sir; I be tired of work.’ ‘Have you ever lived in the country?’ queried Meadowes, who had since the day before evolved his plans a little. ‘Work is none so hard there, and living pleasant; quiet is good for a sad heart.’ ‘You’ll have tried it, sir?’ said Anne sarcastically. ‘For sad hearts be mighty common.’ ‘Ah! I have had my sad days too.’ ‘I’d scarce have thought it, sir,’ said Anne, taking a survey of her visitor. ‘But there,’ she added, as if on second thoughts, ‘you have mayhap felt things like the rest of us.’ ‘I have—I have. God knows I feel things,’ said Meadowes, with sudden curious earnestness. He crossed over to where Anne stood, and laid his fine, white, ringed hand on her arm for a moment. ‘I am grieved for you, Anne; indeed I am; I had not thought ’twould be such a stroke to you, this. I would it were in my power to help you.’ Anne shook her head. ‘’Tis kind of you, sir, and thank you; there’s but the cure of time for me, I do fear,’ she said, drawing back slightly from the touch of Meadowes’ hand as she spoke. ‘I have a cottage in the country,’ he began, ‘where an old nurse of mine keeps bees and flowers and the like: mayhap a change to country air would help you to the forgetting of your trouble.’ Anne shook her head and smiled. ‘I’d get no sale for my straw-plaits thereaway,’ she said. ‘Oh, I would pay you——’ began Meadowes, but Anne cut him short. ‘For what, sir?’ she asked sharply. Meadowes became certain of what he had only suspected before,—that Anne Champion was quite able to take care of herself. ‘For your work, my good girl,’ he said, drawing himself up rather stiffly for a moment. ‘Martha hath over much on her hands between the bees and the flowers. If you care to live with her it would be to give her your assistance in these matters.’ ‘I’ve no knowledge o’ flowers nor any skill with bees, sir,’ said Anne, still speaking in a suspicious tone. Then she added: ‘And where will this place be, sir? for I have been no more than ten miles from London all my days.’ ‘Not farther than that; ’tis out Richmond way,’ said Meadowes. ‘But pray do not hasten yourself to decide. I can get another woman any day. ’Twas but that I fancied the country might change your thoughts for you that I made you the offer.’ He rose as he spoke and held out his hand. ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Anne, curtseying to her fine visitor, and rather impressed by his sudden assumption of dignity. Meadowes was quick to observe the advantage he had gained. ‘If you care to take a week wherein to think over the offer,’ he said, ‘I shall keep the place vacant for you till then.’ ‘Thank you, sir,’ again said Anne. ‘Shall I come and see you at the week’s end?’ asked Meadowes. ‘I thank you; yes, sir,’ said Anne.