‘What do you think of the weather for salmon-fishing?’ asked the Vicar, contemplating the bright blue sky with a discontented look that was hardly becoming in a Christian. ‘We could do with a little more cloud, couldn’t we, Ken? But, as time is short, we must make the best of things. I shall expect you to set off with me directly after breakfast.’ ‘I shall be delighted,’ answered Kenrick; but he did not mean to give up his day to salmon-fishing. He contrived to set the Vicar going, in a spot where there was every chance of good sport, and then, under the pretence of having orders to give about the dinner, ran home across the low-lying water meadows like a boy let loose from school. He found Mrs. Dulcimer expounding the chief features of the mansion--which she had never seen before--to Beatrix, while Betty Mopson stood by in attendance upon them, and made a running commentary, in a Hampshire dialect, which was like a foreign language to the strangers from the north. ‘Hah! Lady Culverhouse wur a good ’ooman,’ said Mrs. Mopson. ‘Thur bean’t many like she. This be the room where hur died. Her wur a rale lady. And Sir Kenrick, him takes after she.’ Kenrick came in time to hear his praises. He sent Betty back to her kitchen. ‘We shall not get a decent luncheon if you waste all your morning chattering here, Betty,’ he said, and Betty departed, grinning and ducking, and with a fixed idea that the young lady with the dark ‘haiyur,’ was to be the next Lady Culverhouse. Kenrick spent a happy day in attendance upon the two ladies. He forgot everything, in the intoxicating delight of the present, forgot that this holiday in life was to be of the briefest, and that a fortnight hence he was to be tossing off Gibraltar in a Peninsular and Oriental steamer. Beatrix seemed happy also, or, at least, she appeared to be in a condition of placid contentment which was not unpromising. The Vicar was successful with his rod, and came home radiant. Betty Mopson had surpassed herself in the preparation of a substantial English dinner. Everything went smoothly and well with Sir Kenrick. Next day he carried off his guests to see some of the lions of the neighbourhood--a fine old abbey church sorely neglected--a castle where luckless King Charles had spent a night in safe keeping. Beatrix, who felt the unreasoning pity which all young and generous minds feel for that weak-minded and ill-used Stuart, contemplated the gloomy stone walls as if they had witnessed the heroic doom of an early Christian martyr. Then came the long drive home, through the spring twilight, across woods which were like glimpses of Paradise.