The fever of expectation and delight into which the usually sedate old woman was thrown on the first occasion when John informed her that “Mr. Arthur” was coming to see the “stock” and “take” his luncheon at the Paddocks, afforded some amusement and not a little surprise to Honor. For herself she hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that her acquaintance with Mr. Vavasour was likely to be improved. That his coming was not, by any means, a matter of indifference to her cannot be denied. It could hardly be that the railway journey passed in his company, short and uneventful though it was, had not left some trace of it behind. Beautiful daughter of Eve though she was, never had eyes of man rested on her face as those of Arthur Vavasour had done that day; but although her vanity had been to a certain degree gratified by a scrutiny which she had _felt_ rather than seen, yet she had, whilst undergoing it, experienced a sensation of _malaise_--a nameless _fear_ almost--which caused her rather to shrink from a first meeting with Arthur Vavasour. As regarded John, he took the event, for which his mother was making such grand preparations, quite as a matter of course. Beyond the fact that Mr. Arthur was the Squire’s son, and one to whom the farmer gave credit for possessing hereditary virtues, the handsome young man, who, as all the country knew, was engaged to the heiress of Fairleigh, was no more to him than any other visitor at the Paddocks. Not that honest John was the very least in the world what is called “a leveller.” To “even” himself with those socially above him never entered his head. The ambition which of all others is the most apt to “o’erleap itself and fall o’ the other side”--the ambition, namely, of a _churl_ to be a gentleman--was an infirmity quite unknown to the simple mind of the Sandyshire farmer. He was absorbed, besides, rationally and wholesomely, in his business, and that business, as John was quite conscious, he thoroughly understood. A sense of superiority (that sense, let it be remembered, being indorsed by the fiat of public opinion) is apt to induce (even though that superiority may be evidenced in a comparatively humble manner) a certain sense also of independence. This sense, then, was a strong and healthy resident in John Beacham’s breast. He knew--none better--that his knowledge of the business in which his soul delighted was anything but superficial, and it was to him a source of pride that his opinion in equine matters had grown to be treated as a law. I repeat that John Beacham was no “leveller”. He was quite as ready as his neighbours to “give tribute to whom tribute, and honour to whom honour,” is due; but it was pretty much the same to him, provided that the individual in question knew _something_ about horse-flesh, whether guest of his were prince or peasant, duke or dog-breeder. His thoughts ran entirely on his stock, and his mind was so fully engrossed by the