Charles was quite pleased with this sentence when he had airily given it out. It had a true ring about it he fancied, which he remembered with gratitude was more than the door-bell had. Peace be with that door-bell, and with the engaging youth who answered it. "I wish you had let me wake Mr. Alwynn," said Ruth. "He will sleep on now till the bells begin." "On no account. I should have been shocked if you had disturbed him. I assure you I can easily wait until he naturally wakes up; that is," with a glance at the book in her hand, "if I am not disturbing you--if you are not engaged in improving yourself at this moment." "No. I have improved myself for the day, thanks. I can safely afford to relax a little now." "So can I. I resemble Lady Mary in that. On Sunday mornings she reflects on her own shortcomings; on Sunday afternoons she finds an innocent relaxation in pointing out mine." "Where is Lady Mary now?" "I should say she was in her Bath-chair on the Scarborough sands at this moment." "I like her," said Ruth, with decision. "Tastes differ. Some people feel drawn towards wet blankets, and others have a leaning towards pokers. Do you know why you like her?" "I never thought about it, but I suppose it was because she seemed to like _me_." "Exactly. You admired her good taste. A very natural vanity, most pardonable in the young, was gratified at seeing marks of favor so well bestowed." "I dare say you are right. At any rate, you seem so familiar with the workings of vanity in the human breast that it would be a pity to contradict you." "By-the-way," said Charles, speaking in the way people do who have nothing to say, and are trying to hit on any subject of conversation, "have you heard any more of your tramp? There was no news of him when I left. I asked the Slumberleigh policeman about him again on my way to the station." "I have heard no more of him, though I keep his memory green. I have not forgotten the fright he gave me. I had always imagined I was rather a self-possessed person till that day." "I am a coward myself when I am frightened," said Charles, consolingly, "though at other times as bold as a lion." They were both sitting under the flickering shadow of the already yellowing horse-chestnut-tree, the first of all the trees to set the gorgeous autumn fashions. But as yet it was paling only at the edges of its slender fans. The air was sweet and soft, with a voiceless whisper of melancholy in it, as if the summer knew, for all her smiles, her hour had wellnigh come. The rectory cows--the mottled one, and the red one, and the big white one that was always milked first--came slowly past on their way to the pond, blinking their white eyelashes leisurely at Charles and Ruth. "It is almost as hot as that Sunday in July when we walked over from Atherstone. Do you remember?" said Charles, suddenly. "Yes." She knew he was thinking of their last conversation, and she felt a momentary surprise that he had remembered it.