Now that poor Mrs. Piper had laid down her load of earthly care, Miss Scratchell restricted her visits to the Park to purely professional limits. She entered the schoolroom punctually at nine, and she left it as punctually at half-past one. She no longer assisted at the children’s early dinner, a meal which Mr. Piper, when at home, shared under the name of luncheon. Bella had a keen sense of the proprieties, and did not care to sit down to luncheon with a disconsolate widower, or to give Mr. Piper any opportunity to pour his griefs into her ear, as he would fain have done very often. Mr. Piper was of a soft and affectionate nature, and when he told his griefs to a young woman he could not refrain from taking her hand, and even occasionally squeezing it. This Bella could not possibly permit. She therefore carefully avoided all conversations about the late Mrs. Piper, and, as far as was practicable, she avoided Mr. Piper himself. ‘It seems very ’ard,’ complained the widower, ‘that the time when a man feels lonesomest is a time for everybody to avide him. You might as well stop, Miss Scratchell, and eat your bit of dinner with me and the children. You won’t get lamb and sparrowgrass at home.’ ‘I know I shall not,’ replied Bella; ‘but I would rather not stay, thank you, Mr. Piper.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘My mother wants me at home.’ ‘She can’t want you more now than she did when pore Mrs. P---- was alive. You never refused to stop then.’ ‘I did not like to refuse dear Mrs. Piper, when she was an invalid, and wanted every one’s sympathy.’ ‘You’re a good-’earted girl,’ said Piper, approvingly. ‘I know what your motive is. You think it ain’t proper to eat your bit of dinner with me, now I’m a widower, though there’s all the children to keep you in countenance. You think it might set the old tabbies up street talking.’ ‘It certainly does not require much to do that,’ replied Bella, smiling. ‘But I really am wanted at home, Mr. Piper, and I mustn’t stop talking here. I am going to drink tea at the Vicarage this evening.’ ‘Ah!’ sighed Air. Piper, ‘you’re a rum girl. It seems to me that everybody wants you. I shall send you round a bundle of my early sparrowgrass.’ ‘Pray don’t take the trouble.’ ‘Yes, I shall. It costs me about eighteen-pence a stick, so somebody may as well have the enjoyment of it. But ’orticulture is my ’obby.’ It must be observed that although Mr. Piper was a student of Cobbett, and had taught himself a little Latin, he had never been able to conquer the mysteries of his own tongue. He still spoke as bad English as in the days when he was a factory hand, and had never read a passage of Cobbett’s strong racy prose, or pondered over a thesis of Bentham’s.