“Isn’t it cold?” she said. It is terrible to be desirous of saying all sorts of passionate things, while convention debars you from any but the most commonplace. “You haven’t been walking at the rate of five miles an hour,” he said, cheerily. “I’ve been into Blackstable to see about buying a nag.” He was the very picture of health; the winds of November were like summer breezes to him, and his face glowed with the pleasant cold. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glistened. His vitality was intense, shining out upon others with almost a material warmth. “Were you going out?” he asked. “Oh no,” Bertha replied, without strict regard to truth. “I just walked down to the gate and I happened to catch sight of you.” “I am very glad--I see you so seldom now, Miss Bertha.” “I wish you wouldn’t call me _Miss Bertha_” she cried, “it sounds horrid.” It was worse than that, it sounded almost menial. “When we were boy and girl we used to call each other by our Christian names.” He blushed a little and his modesty filled Bertha with delight. “Yes, but when you came back six months ago, you had changed so much--I didn’t dare; and besides, you called me Mr. Craddock.” “Well, I won’t any more,” she said, laughing; “I’d much sooner call you Edward.” She did not add that the word seemed to her the most beautiful in the whole list of Christian names, nor that in the past few weeks she had already repeated it to herself a thousand times. “It’ll be like old days,” he said. “D’you remember what fun we used to have when you were a little girl, before you went abroad with Mr. Ley?” “I remember that you used to look upon me with great contempt because I _was_ a little girl,” she replied, laughing. “Well, I was awfully frightened the first time I saw you again--with your hair up and long dresses.” “I’m not really very terrible.” For five minutes they had been looking into one another’s eyes, and suddenly, without obvious reason, Craddock blushed. Bertha noticed it, and a strange little thrill went through her; she reddened too, and her dark eyes flashed even more brightly than before. “I wish I didn’t see you so seldom, Miss Bertha,” he said. “You have only yourself to blame, fair sir. You perceive the road that leads to my palace, and at the end you will certainly find a door.” “I’m rather afraid of your aunt.” It was on the tip of Bertha’s tongue to say that faint heart never won fair lady, but for modesty’s sake she refrained. Her spirits had suddenly gone up and she felt extraordinarily happy. “Do you want to see me very badly?” she asked, her heart beating at quite an absurd rate. Craddock blushed again and seemed to have some difficulty in finding a reply; his confusion and his ingenuous air were new enchantments to Bertha. “If he only knew how I adored him!” she thought; but naturally she could not tell him in so many words. “You’ve changed so much in these years,” he said, “I don’t understand you.” “You haven’t answered my question.”