Honor Beacham’s little head had at that time fully enough (like those of her neighbours) to occupy it. She was too young, too fresh-hearted and inexperienced, not to look forward with a keen anticipation of delight to the out-of-doors amusements that were to be enjoyed in Lord Guernsey’s park, to which all the “respectable” inhabitants of the neighbourhood, the “big” tenants, not only of Gillingham and Danescourt, but also the most highly considered, that is to say, the most prosperous of the Leigh tradesmen had been invited. Danescourt would in former days, before railroads were, have been deemed almost out of visiting distance from Switcham; but steam had done its usual work of approximation, and now it required but the short space of twenty minutes to convey the travellers from the furthest point of Switcham parish to the great lodge-gates of “the Court.” But though young Mrs. Beacham was by no means insensible to the coming pleasure in a few days to be vouchsafed to her unpresuming class, still there remained, it is to be feared, more space in her mind than was altogether advisable for thoughts of Arthur Vavasour and his approaching “change” of circumstances and life. She had grown, very different as were their positions in life, to know him (as she fancied) very thoroughly. From the first she had felt and seemed to herself to be the equal in _degree_, as it is called, of Arthur Vavasour. Whether it were that her individual nature was delicate and refined, or that, as the foolish creature loved to think, her birth, of the particulars of which she knew so little, was one sufficiently “gentle” to account both for the peculiarity of her tastes and the gracefulness of her appearance, must remain for the present an open question; one thing, however, is certain, namely, that she and Arthur Vavasour were not only rarely at a loss for subjects of conversation, but that never once in all their intercourse had he caused her to remember either by word or look that his position in life was more exalted than her own. Take it altogether, in spite of Mrs. Beacham’s crossness, and although John had been often very busy among his horses and his men, those two months had been a singularly happy time to Honor. She had enjoyed to a degree, which only to look back upon was a delight, those delicious rides in evening-time through the shady lanes, those canters over the springy turf in the beautiful “Chace” which Arthur already talked of as his own, those strolls about the pleasant Paddock garden, when just a tinge of sentiment--of _sentiment_ guessed at rather than expressed--mingled with Arthur’s more commonplace words, and lent the charm of charms, although she knew it not, to all that Honor gathered from her companion’s lips. She was indeed, and for that matter so also was John himself, thoroughly happy in the cheerful society of Arthur Vavasour. He was the familiar friend, the ever-welcome guest both of “master” and of “young missus,”