"I think, Barbara, we must be going home," her uncle suggested. The young man stood aside to let them pass, with a certain awkwardness and irresolution, for their road was the same as his own. "I beg your pardon," he said, abruptly, "but perhaps, if you are going that way, you can tell me how far it is to Mitchelhurst." They both looked surprised. "About a mile and a half. Were you going to Mitchelhurst?" "Yes, but if you know it----" "We live there," said Barbara. "Perhaps you could tell me what I want to know. I would just as soon not go on this afternoon. Is there a decent inn, or, better still, could one be tolerably sure of getting lodgings in the place, without securing them beforehand?" "You want lodgings there?" "Only for a few days. I came by train a couple of hours ago"--he named a neighbouring town--"and they told me at the hotel that it was uncertain whether I should find accommodation at Mitchelhurst; so I left my luggage there, and walked over to make inquiries." "I do not think that I can recommend the inn," said the other, doubtfully. "I fear you would find it beery, and smoky, and noisy--the village alehouse, you understand. Sanded floors, and rustics with long clay pipes--that's the kind of thing at the 'Rothwell Arms.'" "Ah! the 'Rothwell Arms'!" "And as for lodgings," the old man continued, with something alert and watchful in his manner, "the fact is people _don't_ care to lodge in Mitchelhurst. They live there, a few of them--myself for instance--but there is nothing in the place to attract ordinary visitors." He paused, but the only comment was-- "Indeed?" "Nothing whatever," he affirmed. "A little, out-of-the-way, uninteresting village--but you are anxious to stay here?" The stranger was re-arranging the loosened handkerchief with slender, unskilful fingers. "For a few days--yes," he repeated, half absently, as he tried to tuck away a hanging end. "Uncle," said Barbara, with timid eagerness, "doesn't Mrs. Simmonds let lodgings? When that man came surveying, or something, last summer, didn't he have rooms in her house? I'm very nearly sure he did." Her uncle intercepted, as it were, the stranger's glance of inquiry. "Perhaps. But I don't think Mrs. Simmonds will do on this occasion." "Why not?" the other demanded. "I don't suppose I'm more particular than the man who came surveying. If the place is decently clean, why not?" "Because your name is Harding. I don't know what his might happen to be." The young man drew himself up, almost as if he repelled an accusation. Then he seemed to recollect himself. "Yes," he said, "it is. How did you know that?" The little Mitchelhurst gentleman found such pleasure in his own acuteness that it gave a momentary air of cordiality to his manner. "My dear sir," he replied, looking critically at Harding's scratched face, "I knew the Rothwells well. I recognise the Rothwell features." "You must be a keen observer," said the other curtly.