"And so you really live here, Mrs. Goddard? How long is it since you came? Mr. Ambrose never told me--" "I have been here more than two years--two years last October," she answered quietly. "The very year I left--only a month after I was gone. How strange!" Mrs. Goddard looked up nervously. She was frightened lest John should have made any deductions from the date of her arrival. But John was thinking in a very different train of thought. "Why is it strange?" she asked. "Oh, I hardly know," said John in considerable embarrassment. "I was only thinking--about you--that is, about it all." The answer did not tend to quiet Mrs. Goddard's apprehensions. "About me?" she exclaimed. "Why should you think about me?" "It was very foolish, of course," said John. "Only, when I caught sight of you that day I was very much struck. You know, I was only a boy, then. I hoped you would come back--but you did not." He blushed violently, and then glanced at his companion to see whether she had noticed it. "No," she said, "I did not come back for some time." "And then I was gone. Mr. Ambrose never told me you had come." "Why should he?" "Oh, I don't know. I think he might. You see Billingsfield has been a sort of home to me, and it is a small place; so I thought he might have told me the news." "I suppose he thought it would not interest you," said Mrs. Goddard. "I am sure I do not know why it should. But you must be very fond of the place, are you not?" "Very. As I was saying, it is very like home to me. My father lives in town you know--that is not at all like home. One always associates the idea of home with the country, and a vicarage and a Hall, and all that." "Does one?" said Mrs. Goddard, picking her way over the frozen mud of the road. "Take care, Nellie, it is dreadfully slippery!" "How much she has grown," remarked John, looking at the girl's active figure as she walked before them. "She was quite a little girl when I saw her first." "Yes, she grows very fast," answered Mrs. Goddard rather regretfully. "You say that as though you were sorry." "I? No. I am glad to see her grow. What a funny remark." "I thought you spoke sadly," explained John. "Oh, dear no. Only she is coming to the awkward age." "She is coming to it very gracefully," said John, who wanted to say something pleasant. "That is the most any of us can hope to do," answered Mrs. Goddard with a little smile. "We all have our awkward age, I suppose." "I should not think you could remember yours." "Why? Do you think it was so very long ago?" Mrs. Goddard laughed. "No--I cannot believe you ever had any," said John. The boyish compliment pleased Mrs. Goddard. It was long since any one had flattered her, for flattery did not enter into the squire's system for making himself agreeable. "Do they teach that sort of thing at Cambridge?" she asked demurely. "What sort of thing?" "Making little speeches to ladies," said she.