The pair were silent as they turned into Mitchelhurst Street. Reynold looked at the small, shabby houses, and noted the swinging sign of the "Rothwell Arms," though his deeper thoughts were full of other things. But about half way through the village he awoke to a sudden consciousness of eyes. Eyes peered through small-paned windows, stared boldly from open doorways, met him inquisitively in the faces of loiterers on the path, or were lifted from the dull task of mending the road as he walked by with Barbara. He looked over his shoulder and found that other people were looking over their shoulders, after which he felt himself completely encompassed. "People here seem interested," he remarked to Miss Strange, while a pale-faced, slatternly girl, with swiftly-plaiting fingers, leaned forward to get a better view. "Why, of course they are interested. You are a stranger, you know. It is quite an excitement for them." "You call that an excitement?" said he. "Yes. If you spent your life straw-plaiting in one of these cottages you would be excited if a stranger went by. It would be kinder of you if you did not walk so fast." "No, no," said Harding, quickening his steps. "I don't profess philanthropy." "Besides, you are not altogether a stranger," she went on. "I dare say they think you are one of the old family come to buy up the property." "Why should they think anything of the kind?" he demanded incredulously. "Well, they know you are staying at the Place. Every child in the street knows that. And, you see, Mr. Harding, nobody comes to Mitchelhurst without some special reason, so perhaps they have a right to be curious. I remember how they stared a few months ago--it was at a gentleman who was just walking down the road----" "Indeed," said Harding. "And what was _his_ special reason for coming? I suppose," he added quickly, "I've as good a right to be curious as other Mitchelhurst people." "Oh, I don't know. He was a friend of Uncle Herbert's--he came to see him." "And did _he_ walk slowly from motives of pure kindness?" the young man persisted. "Yes," said Barbara defiantly. "He stood stock still and looked at the straw plaiting. I don't know about the kindness; perhaps he liked it." "Well, I don't like it." "But you needn't take such very long steps: these three cottages are the last. Do you know I'm very nearly running?"