“My Paradise Grove friend is far too sensible to have acted in that manner,” he said. “But I have a feeling that it is she,” said Tom. “I wish we had Mary’s portrait that we might show it to Mr. Knight. Margaret Miller has one, I will borrow it in the morning.” “You will be able to spend to-morrow with us, Mr. Knight?” queried Mrs. Whitwell. “I am sure you will be interested in what my husband is doing for his tenants.” “I shall have to leave about midday, unfortunately,” he said. “I have made an appointment with the Basket Woman, who has been vainly trying to waylay me for some time. She wishes to make a suggestion to me on behalf of the people. The next day I have to be in Granchester again.” “That is where Dr. Stapleton’s rich brother lives. I wonder if the doctor will go to your meeting, Mr. Knight?” Then followed a little account of the doctor’s doings as far as they were known. The time passed all too quickly, although they talked far into the night. Next morning John Dallington left early, and Arthur Knight had a country ride with his host over the farm and along the roads. Tom was a good horsewoman, and she accompanied them. Arthur enjoyed a long talk with her; but she was determined not to give him the chance of seeing her alone. He was intensely interested. He found her so pleasantly piquant, so merry and entertaining, that sometimes he wondered if she had two natures; for there was little to remind him of the sweet singer who had comforted the blind woman only a short time before. He had no opportunity to refer to the incident, or to say a word of their past meetings, only as he was leaving Tom said, softly, “Give my love to Sissie when next you see her, and also to the Basket Woman, if she should prove to be Mary Wythburn.” He had a pressing invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Whitwell to repeat his visit, and this he promised to do at no distant date; but for a little time he was full of engagements. He wished, very sincerely, that he might become better acquainted with the youngest daughter of his host, who puzzled as much as she pleased him. Of course, he did not forget the commission which she had given him. “When are you going to tell me your name?” asked Arthur Knight, when the lady in grey presented herself before him as a deputation from Paradise Grove. The question disconcerted his visitor, whose cheeks flushed, while her eyes sought the floor. “Excuse me, Mr. Knight,” she said, “the name does not matter. Please call me the Basket Woman, as usual.” She stole a glance into his face, and saw that he was looking at her intently; but she would not allow anything to interfere with the task that she had on hand, and hastily proceeded to explain the cause of her visit.