To her surprise--for she had fancied he would be waylaid by John, and carried off at once to see the “stock”--she perceived, through one of the parlour-windows, Mr. Vavasour sitting on the ponderous sofa covered with peony-patterned chintz, and in amiable converse with his hostess, who was doing her best, in more ways than one, to entertain him. In a few more minutes Honor was in the room, and--_mirabile dictu!_--shaking hands with Arthur Vavasour. It was very evident that for some reason or other--_what_, Honor would have found it difficult to determine--he had kept the fact of that very innocent meeting on the terrace-walk a secret. Honor hardly knew whether to be relieved or sorry that he had done so. That she could do otherwise than follow his lead, never for a moment, strange as it may seem, occurred to her. The nature of this young wife was rather an ease-loving one, and to be spared the listening to Mrs. Beacham’s diatribes was felt by her to be a great boon; so she, unwisely it must be owned, held her peace, keeping Arthur’s secret (alas, that there should have been one, of even the most insignificant description, between those two!) alike from the cantankerous old lady, and the husband who had as yet given her no cause to fear that he would ever be severe either on her follies or her faults. CHAPTER XVI. THE ELEMENTS WERE IN FAULT. From the time of that chance meeting, Arthur Vavasour became a very frequent visitor at the Paddocks. Ostensibly there was generally some business excuses for the “calls” that were made so often, and lasted so long. There was so frequently an ailing or an unsound horse, concerning which an opinion was required; and then, as we already know, the Paddocks lay so conveniently on the road to Fairleigh, that it was hardly surprising that poor Sophy’s somewhat fickle lover should stop to rest him on the way. There is no denying the truth that young Mrs. Beacham did greatly enjoy Mr. Vavasour’s society. They had so many (the old reason!) tastes in common. He had read the books _she_ liked, and he delighted in less commonplace and more classic music than “The soldier’s tear,” and that old, old “Banks of Allan Waters,” which Honor was so tired of. His voice too, when he spoke, was so soft and low--an “excellent thing” in man as well as woman--and that same voice sounded doubly pleasant after a morning spent in listening to Mrs. Beacham’s querulous tones and harsh Yorkshire dialect. It was surprising to herself how soon Honor felt at her ease with Arthur Vavasour, and how short a time had been necessary to make her forget that he was the son of that formidable Lady Millicent; while she--but what had been _her_ origin Honor believed herself never destined to learn--it was enough that she had been but a humble teacher to some farm-house children, and that John, that best and kindest of created beings, had taken her, penniless and almost friendless as she was, to his home and to his heart.