“Well, I expect you will be too clever. You would soon learn how stupid I was; and then perhaps we should quarrel.” Rosalie looked up shyly as she spoke those last words. The quarrelling, she felt pretty certain, would be all on his side, as it had been with Mr. Barringcourt, for she would never have presumed so far. “You give Billy credit for being more forbearing than I?” “Oh, no; I think he will be less observant. I’m very stupid, you know,” she continued, with her large, earnest eyes fixed on his; “and people get very soon tired of me. I thought it might be just as well to tell you now, in case you might form a wrong impression, and then be annoyed after, and blame me for it.” “Well,” said he, smiling, “that will do for the present. Sleep to-night, and in the morning we will hold a longer conversation.” “But it’s morning now.” “Oh, no! It’s evening coming on. The sun has set. No travellers ever come to us with morning. The journey is too long for that.” “But everybody cannot come to you just at the same time.” “Well, pretty much at the same time. We live in the centre of a circle, and the distance from every direction is fairly equal.” “Do you get many travellers?” “Not compared with many wayside inns. But we have a select few that are always very welcome, for we know that they possess some merit, or they would never reach us.” “Ah! Then I am afraid I am not equal to the rest. I have no merits. Nothing but chance and God’s goodness brought me to you.” He smiled. “That is curious coupling,” he answered. “Chance and God’s goodness.” “Well, it was so extremely strange and unexpected.” “We will speak more about it to-morrow. But now I will come with you to see what light refreshment our house affords.” He rose from his chair and led the way into another room where lamps were lit, though there was still much light outside, and a clear fire burning. “How stupid of me not to notice the sun was setting. I thought when first I saw it it was rising.” “That is a common mistake, much commoner than you’d think, with those coming from Lucifram. You see, it is the direct turnabout, and it is apt to muddle one at first.” “Yes, indeed. What lovely flowers!” Rosalie was looking at the pretty supper-table and its exquisite decorations. There was something so pure and delicate and delicious about everything, from the snowy linen and flowers all white and flaxen coloured, to the china and vessels of silver and crystal glass. Moreover, there was no shadow lying here. One might eat in happiness and sweet contentment, and the thankfulness born of these.