Haidee and I had to go to the village shop with a list of articles which I felt sure we should not get there. But it was one of Mr. Rayner’s principles to encourage local trade, so we had to go once a week and tease the crusty and ungrateful old man who was the sole representative of it by demands for such outlandish things as wax-candles, bloater-paste, and _filoselle_. I had been tapping vainly for some minutes on the little counter, on which lay four tallow “dips,” a box of rusty crochet-hooks, and a most uninviting piece of bacon, when Mr. Reade dashed into the shop and greeted me with much surprise. When he had asked after Mr. and Mrs. Rayner, and heard that they were quite well, there was a pause, and he seemed to look to me to continue the conversation; but I could think of nothing to say. So he roamed about, digging his cane into the cheese and knocking down a jar of snuff, which he carefully scraped together with his foot and shovelled back, dust and all, into the jar, while I still tapped and still nobody came. “He must be at dinner,” said I resignedly. “In that case we shall have to wait.” For I knew Mr. Bowles. So Mr. Reade seated himself on the counter and harpooned the bacon with one of the rusty crochet-hooks. “Convenient place these village-shops are,” said he, not thinking of what he was saying, I was sure. “Yes, if you don’t care what you get, nor how stale it is,” said I, sharply. He laughed; but I did not intend to be funny at all. “I came in only for some”--here he looked round the shop, and his eyes rested on a pile of dusty toys--“for some marbles. I thought they would do for the school-treat, you know.” I thought it was a pity he did not return to his lawn-tennis and his _fiancée_, if that was the errand he came on, and I was determined not to be drawn into another _tête-à-tête_ with him, so I turned to leave the shop. But he stopped me. “Old Bowles can’t be much longer over his bacon, I’m sure,” said he, rather pleadingly. “I--I wanted to ask you if you were any better. I thought last Sunday you were looking awfully ill.” “Last Sunday?”--and I thought of those girls. “I was never better in my life, thank you. And I am quite well. Mr. and Mrs. Rayner have put me into the turret to keep me out of the damp. It was very, very kind of him to think about it. It is the best room in all the house.” “Best room in the house? Then Mr. Rayner doesn’t sleep in the house at all,” said he, in a low voice, but with much decision. I got up from the one chair and turned to my pupil, who was deep in an old story-book that she had found. “Come, Haidee!” “No, no; that is revenge--it is unworthy of you,” said he in a lower voice still. “Don’t let us quarrel again. Mr. Rayner is an angel. No, no, not that!”--for I was turning away again. “He has his faults; but he is as near perfection as a man can be. Then you are very happy at the Alders now?” “Yes, thank you.” “And you have no great troubles?” “Yes. I have--Sarah.”