He assented with a smile, and returning her look with quick intelligence. The talk drifted into other channels, and at length they all rose to their feet, but he did not go at once. He began to ask Fan about her botanical studies, one of the subjects which Constance had taught her. He had, he said, studied botany at school and was very fond of it. Presently he became much interested in a plant, a creeper, hanging from a low shrub about twenty-five or thirty yards from where they were standing, and Fan at once started off to get a spray for him to see. “I am very glad, Miss Churton, that our discussion is only to be _deferred,”_ he said. “It has interested me more deeply than you can imagine, and for various reasons I should be glad to go further with it.” She did not reply, although looking pleased at his words, and then he continued: “I cannot bear to think of leaving this place without seeing you again. I wished for one thing--please don't think me very egotistical for saying it--to tell you about some little papers I am writing, and one or two of which have been printed in a periodical. I think the subject would interest you. Will you think me very bold, Miss Churton, if I ask you to let me call on you at your home?” His request troubled her, and after a little hesitation she answered: “I shall be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Chance, and perhaps if I tell you why I can scarcely do what you ask you will not think hardly of me. I cannot open my lips at home on the subject we have been discussing, and I am looked on coldly here, in my own village, on account of my heterodox opinions. My mother would receive you well, but she would think it wrong in me to invite a sympathiser to the house.” “Then, Miss Churton, how lonely your life must be!” “You must not think more about me, Mr. Chance.” “You are asking too much,” he answered smiling, and the words brought a blush to her cheek. “But I cannot bear to go away from Eyethorne without seeing you once more. May I hope to meet you tomorrow in this place?” “I cannot promise that. But if--no, I cannot say more now.” Fan was back with a spray of the plant, but he had somehow lost all interest in it. That about his botany had all been pure fiction; but it had served its purpose, and now, he regretfully remarked, his plant-lore, he found, had completely faded from his mind. And after a little further conversation he shook hands and left them. CHAPTER XXIII