I had noticed what a very pleasant rich voice he had when he first spoke to me, and now I remembered how particular he had been in his letters about my music; so I concluded that Mr. Rayner sang. He helped me into the dog-cart, carefully wrapped me up with a rug, and then, instead of getting in himself, patted the neck of the brown mare, who turned her head and put her nose into her master’s hand. I was trying to get over my bewilderment. Of course I might have expected that the father of my six-year-old pupil would not be the middle-aged gray-haired man I had pictured to myself; but for him to be a man who did not look more than three or four and twenty was a surprise; and to find him so shy and deferential did not seem quite right, considering our respective positions. He was big and broad, and rather massive, had dark hair and mustache, gray eyes, and a kind simplicity of expression, which perhaps, I thought, with his habit of blushing, made him look younger than he was. He left the mare and stood by me again. “I am afraid you will find the country dull. You will miss the gayety of London.” “I haven’t led a very gay life,” said I; “I don’t think poor people are very gay anywhere.” “But you have not been shut up in a schoolroom before. I can’t think how you will stand it. I always hated schoolrooms; and it’s a fact that I was never in a school without being told that I was a disgrace to it.” Mr. Rayner did not seem much distressed as he made this confession. “I dare say you were great at cricket, or rowing, or--or--fighting,” I hazarded, feeling that some rejoinder was expected. “No, I wasn’t. I remember giving a boy a black eye once for calling me a dunce. He was quite right, you know. And I remember being surprised that I hurt him so much; for I generally got the worst of it in a fight. They used to say it took a good deal to rouse me; and I didn’t do much harm when I was roused,” he added, laughing. “I hope your daughter does not share her father’s dislike of school routine,” I broke out anxiously. He started and looked up at me, coloring vividly, and then said, with some amusement in his tones-- “Did you take me for Mr. Rayner?” The next moment he seemed sorry for my evident confusion, and added, looking away, “My name is Reade. Mrs. Rayner sent her brougham for you; but a wagon ran into it and took one of the wheels off; so I put my cart at your disposal. I hope you don’t mind driving in a thing like this?” “Oh, no!” I said. “That was Mr. Rayner on the platform with me,” he went on. “His dog rushed out just as the train came up, and he asked me to see to your luggage while he held him. I don’t know why he is so long.”