"It ain't her duty to be forward and peacocky, Martha Jane," said Mrs Stroud impressively, "far from it; but when a good chance offers itself, and a respectable young man comes forward, she should turn him over in her mind." "He don't want any turning," said Matty, with a toss of the head. "What you're alluding to, aunt, wouldn't be to my taste at all." "Hoity-toity, your taste indeed! You're nearly as perverse in your way as Florrie, Martha Jane. Young Mr Clements is a very steady young man, and a very good match for you, and looks at you constant whenever he has the chance. It's your duty to let him say his say, and turn the thing over--" "No, no! Aunt Lizzie," said Martha, in tears. "I don't want him to say anything--I don't want him to say anything at all--it quite upsets me!" "Upsets you, indeed! No, Martha Jane, there's no one more against flirty ways than I am; but a young woman should be able to receive proper attentions without being shook to the foundations either! A good offer is to her credit, and she can say yes or no, civil and lady-like. But in my opinion, Martha Jane, this is a case for saying yes." Matty offered no explanation, but if she had had Florence's tongue at that minute she might have surprised Mrs Stroud. Perhaps if she had not had a sneaking kindness for the attentive Mr Clements, his striking dissimilarity to every hero who ever adorned the pages of fiction would not have struck her so forcibly, nor would his attentions have been so upsetting. Love of novelty was a strong element in Florence's adventurous nature, and she started off for Ashcroft in very good spirits, and enjoyed the short journey by rail from Rapley to Ashdown Junction exceedingly. She had never been away from home before. The mere sitting in the railway carnage and watching her fellow-travellers was a delight; her round, rosy face beamed with satisfaction, and she had nursed a crying baby, and put it to sleep, and screamed out of window to ask questions of the porter for a nervous old lady before she arrived at her destination, and jumped out on the platform at Ashdown, where she was to be met. There was a little bustle of arrival. A gentleman got out, and the porters ran for his luggage, and presently one came up to Florence, saying: "Young woman for the keeper's lodge at Ashcroft? You're to go back in the trap that fetched Mr James's luggage. He's riding himself." "And who's Mr James?" said Florence cheerfully, as her box was found and she was conducted out of the station. "Mr James Cunningham for the Hall," said the porter, evidently surprised at any explanation being needed. The trap was driven by a stolid-looking lad, and spinning along behind the big horse was the newest sensation Florence had ever experienced. She was fairly silenced, and next door to frightened, as they passed along the narrow woodland roads, where the branches brushed her hat, and trees--trees--seemed to go on for ever.