Jim was hurrying home to the Rectory full of the plans that had been settled between him and his new friend, full of the unusual excitement of something to do which was novel at least, and might be amusing, and was voluntary, exacted from him by no one. It was the loveliest spring night, the first of May, but full of a softness which is little to be depended upon at that season, the stars shining sweetly in a sky which was fresh and luminous, with nothing of the sparkle of frost in it, but a prophecy, almost a realisation, of summer. The village was quiet, as it usually was at that hour; the window of the ‘Blue Boar’ still shining with light, for it was not yet the closing hour: but all except the _habitués_ of that respectable place, where general drinking was not encouraged, had left. Jim did not feel the drawing to-night of those invisible links which drew him to the ‘Blue Boar,’ and he was hurrying along towards home, when he encountered a wrapped-up figure which paused as he approached, but which he did not at first recognise. Indeed, to tell the truth, he thought for a moment with a quick movement of anger, that it was one of his own belongings, mother or sister, who had taken the liberty of coming out thus, veiled and covered up, to look for him, which was a thing that the young man in his greatness of superiority would not very readily have forgiven. But it was not anything so innocent as poor Mrs. Plowden with her shawl over her head, strolling forth, as she would have explained, because it was such a beautiful night, just to breathe the air; not anything nearly so innocent. The dark figure stopped as Jim came up, and with a little cough to call his attention, said: ‘Is this Mr. Jim?’ ‘Oh!’ he said, coming to a sudden pause, ‘Mrs. Brown!’ but not with any delight in his tone. ‘I fear,’ said Mrs. Brown, ‘there is not much pleasure in seeing me in that exclamation; but then, of course, you can’t see me, which takes from it all the uncomplimentary meaning. And where are you coming from at this hour--some of your smart parties?’ ‘You know as well as I do,’ he said, aggrieved, ‘that there are no smart parties here.’ ‘What do you call Mrs. FitzStephen’s ball?’ she said, with her laugh of mockery. ‘I have heard that it was very smart--the young ladies’ dresses beautiful, and diamonds upon some of the old ones. I call that very smart. Unfortunately, I hear, there were no Royal Highnesses--unless it was yourself, Mr. Jim.’ ‘How fond you are of laughing at people!’ said Jim. ‘I--the most innocent woman in the world! I will be very civil, now, if you will walk as far as my house with me. I don’t mind the road up to the Hall, but here in the village, where a tipsy man might run up against me----’