She turned it over with the prettiest little movement, and looked at the name in the corner, and glanced up at him and smiled. ‘T. G. ... Tina Gillan ....’ she read out to herself; ‘it was clever of you to guess that it was mine. And I am sure it was kind of you to bring it up to-night, and you shall have my very best thanks before you go.’ And then, all at once, as if some sudden idea had seized her, she bit her red lips, and looked down, and was mute. When she spoke to him again she did not raise her eyes, and the change in her voice made it sound quite differently. ‘What is your name?’ ‘Nat Salter,’ he said, surprised at her altered manner, but too much surprised to be offended yet. ‘Salter .... Salter .... I remember that name .... Do you know my brother--have you come to speak to him?’ ‘I don’t know what you mean, miss,’ answered Nat. ‘I’ve never spoke to your brother in my life.’ She looked at him with a hard, searching glance, and then lowered her eyes once more, and seemed to think. Whatever her thoughts were they did not appear to soothe her, for when she spoke again her voice was sharp and quick. ‘You have not come up here to receive a letter; you will not take away a letter when you go?’ ‘I don’t know what you mean at all, miss,’ replied Nat, confused. ‘I’ve never took no letters, except the letters of the Squire.’ Apparently she believed him, for she did not question him further; and when she spoke her voice had become soft again. It was time, for the angry colour had mounted to his forehead, the feeling that he was suspected had roused his pride. ‘You live down in the village?’ she asked him, gently, as if she were sorry, and wished to show interest in him. ‘Have you many brothers and sisters in your home? Do sit down whilst you talk, for I know you must be tired.’ The gentle voice and the lingering glance she gave had on him the effect of a new experience; he was touched and confused as he had never been before. But, although he sat down as she bade, it was with the manner of a village-boy, for he became very red, and he turned away his face. ‘I’ve one sister,’ he blurted, as one making a confession; ‘she be a year older nor me, an’ she live with me at home.’ He could feel that her eyes were upon him as she spoke; although he had not the courage to turn his face to her. ‘And is she like you--your sister?’ she asked gently, as if the subject were one that was interesting. Nat did not answer, for he did not know how to answer, it was a question that he had never considered. ‘Is your sister pretty--do the village people think so?’ She seemed somewhat amused to see him blush. ‘Some folk does, miss,’ answered Nat, with difficulty. She drew her lips close and tight as she heard the words.