It was a warm morning in a pleasant country lane, and a young gentleman, with a very broad brimmed hat, a very long frock-coat, and a very small, stiff shirt collar, was pacing meditatively to and fro, evidently waiting for someone. Every now and then he glanced up the lane which seemed deserted by ordinary passengers, and if he had not been a clergyman would no doubt have whistled. At last his patience was rewarded. Over the top of the low hedge a coquettish hat appeared sailing along, and presently a young woman came meekly round the corner, enjoying the fresh country air. It was Miss Maynard. The young gentleman advanced. He seemed to know her, for taking off his broad-brimmed hat, he kissed her, much in the same fashion as a short time before she had kissed the Major, only much more forcibly, and apparently with much enjoyment. "Em, I thought you were never coming." "I don't know," she said, and sighed. "I don't know. It's all vanity. I was thinking of your last Sunday's sermon," she continued as they wandered on, seemingly unconscious that his arm was round her waist. "It was so true." They walked on till they reached a gate which opened into a little woodland copse. Here, under the mighty trees, the shade was pleasant, and the grass cool and refreshing to the eye. They sat at the foot of a great old oak. "Em," said Mr. Roland--by the way, the Rev. John Roland was the young gentleman's name--"these meetings are very pleasant." "Yes," said Em, who was always truthful, "they are." "Therefore, I am afraid to run the risk of ending them." "What do you mean?" cried she. To be candid, four mornings out of five were taken up by these pleasant little meetings, and to end them would be to rob her of one of her most important occupations. "Em, you know what I mean." "I don't," said she. "You do," said he. "I do not," she said, and looked the other way. "Then I'll tell you." And he told her. "Em, I can keep silence no longer. I must tell your uncle all. And if he forbids me--" "I don't mind saying," she observed, taking advantage of the pause, "that I don't care if he does." "What do you mean?" "John," she whispered. "Call me Jack." "No; it's so undignified for a clergyman." Some people would call it undignified for a young woman to lay her hand on a clergyman's shoulder. "What do I care if he says no? He never does say what he means the first time. I can just turn him round my finger. Whatever he said to you he would never dare to say no to me; at least, when I had done with him." "Let us hope so," said Mr. Roland. "But whatever happens, I feel that I have already been too long silent." "I don't know," murmured Em, with a saintlike expression in her eyes. "I rather like meeting you upon the sly." Mr. Roland, as a curate and so on, perceived this to be a sentiment in which, under any circumstances, it was impossible for him to acquiesce--at least, verbally.