Van Kull’s remark, though over-forcible, was undeniably just; and Derwent was already at their heads. The groom was also there; and in a few moments the horses were taken out, the coach set upright again, and all damage repaired. Everyone agreed that the accident was in nowise due to Arthur’s driving, but entirely to the soft bit in the road. “These things will happen, you know,” said Birmingham, good-naturedly. “It’s half the fun, I think,” said Pussie Duval. “I thought you’d ’a dumped ’em, sir,” said the groom, “when I see that ere soft bit in the road.” And as a mark of special confidence, Arthur was allowed to drive the coach the rest of the way into Great Barrington, where they were to stop for the night. The merriment consequent on their disaster did not cease during the afternoon, and Arthur was many times maliciously thanked for the diversion he had afforded the party. But Miss Farnum, who was still his companion on the box, seemed fortunately as much inclined to silence as he was himself. Indeed, she had been strangely silent all the day. The country roads gradually drew themselves together and made themselves into the broad, straight avenue that is Great Barrington’s main street; and up this they swept gayly, about an hour before sunset. They did not pass the Judge’s old place; but as Arthur heard Mrs. Gower’s light laughter behind him the old scene in the garden recurred to him at once. It was not yet a year ago: and he remembered now that the man she had been driving with was Wemyss. They drew up merrily before the village hotel--it seemed so odd to Arthur to be there in his own town; he had never associated it with so gay a party--and after a few minutes of preparation they started out to see the place. Miss Farnum made pretext of a headache and did not go; but the others sauntered along beneath the overarching elms. To the left the setting sun lay across the intervale in broad gold bars. Arthur was walking with Lord Birmingham and Mrs. Hay. Coming back, they met Mrs. Gower at the dinner-table. “I am sorry,” said she, “Miss Farnum has to go home.” “Dear me, I’m so sorry,” said Mrs. Hay, politely. “What, you don’t mean she’s going to leave us?” said Lord Birmingham, blankly. He looked from one to the other of the party, as if asking an explanation. “She said nothing to me about it,” he added, naïvely. “I have telegraphed to Mrs. Malgam to ask her to join us,” said Mrs. Flossie, hurriedly checking the general inclination to laugh that had succeeded his lordship’s last speech. “You need not look so blank, you men--no Jack shall be left without a Jill.” “_A_ Jill,” said Wemyss, maliciously, accentuating the indefinite article, and looking at Mrs. Hay.