‘Then she won’t be at any of the balls?’ asked a practical spirit. ‘I suppose not, from that. But I don’t know, of course. She didn’t say she had vowed never to go out at all. But it must be very trying for her. _He_ won’t go anywhere, you know; and she is evidently not the sort of young woman who goes in for society and amusement at any price.’ ‘No; and I must say I admire her for it. Mamma said she thought her quite dignified and proper in her ideas—very good form in every way. It’s very sad for her, having a brother like that, and no one to take her out. I think we’re going to ask her to lunch, some day.’ ‘Ah, yes!’ came in a chorus of satisfied assent. Michael hereupon took his leave. The girls had forgotten his presence, and, on his appearance amongst them, eagerly asked if he knew Miss Askam. ‘I’ve met her casually, once or twice,’ said Michael, calmly. ‘So far as I can judge, your verdict upon her is full of wisdom and justice.’ And he bowed himself out. ‘Michael Langstroth does get more and more dull and unsatisfactory as a companion every time one sees him,’ observed a young matron, who had known him since they had both been children. ‘He’s a disappointed man, that’s what he is,’ she added with decision. ‘He will go on getting worse and worse in that way.’ Michael, riding away, thought also how fortunate it was for Miss Askam that she was ‘dignified;’ though it certainly seemed as if the dignity must bring with it a good deal of dulness, when practised in a place like Bradstane. But these thoughts of her, and talk of her, even such as that he had just heard, were occasional, rare; while his work was daily, hourly, and continual, and the pursuit of it carried him quickly through the last days of November, and the first week or two of December, till it did not want so very long to Christmas. It was ‘an open winter,’ that year. At least, December was well advanced, and there had been hardly a touch of frost. The roads were soft, and the air was mild, so that it was not only Michael who was to be seen riding up and down at this season. He met friends occasionally, and exchanged greetings with them, at long distances from their homes. One morning, riding in a road some three or four miles from Bradstane, he was walking his horse, and looking with curiosity at some bushes in the hedge, on which were visible many buds. The trees had mistaken the warmth of autumn for that of spring; no doubt they would presently be rudely reminded of their error, blighted, and turned into vegetable misanthropes, while the little unseasonable black buds would die an untimely death. Slowly turning a corner, he came full upon what seemed to him, at first, quite a cavalcade of horsemen and horsewomen. A moment’s glance, however, showed that the party consisted of four—two ladies, and two men, with a couple of grooms in the background. The lane was not wide, and they rode two and two.