My first encounter with the Squire came off about the third week we were here, and my imaginings were wrong in all but two unimportant points. Mrs Maplestone wears voluminous sables and clothes of antique cut; but they look quite charming and appropriate, for--she is antique herself! She is the Squire's mother, not his wife. He hasn't got a wife; never has had one, and never will. Hates all women and their ways. Avoids feminine society, and has never been known to pay a girl five minutes' attention in his life! Such is the village verdict as repeated to me through Bridget, who has a _flair_ for gossip, and is one of those wonderful people who cannot walk half a mile along a solitary country lane, without hearing, or seeing, or mentally absorbing some interesting item about the lives of her fellow-creatures! Every night when she brushes my hair she recounts these items to me, and I pretend to be uninterested, and listen with all my ears. In any case, Mr Maplestone seems very kind and attentive to his mother. I met them (as fancy painted!) when I was coming home from a trudge along the damp lanes, and was looking considerably blown and dishevelled. They were getting out of their car just outside the gates of Uplands--a most malapropos position!--but without the least hesitation he lifted his hat, and bowed, so that I was spared the troubled uncertainty which I had imagined. I can't say he looked _amiable_, but at least he was polite, and I was so relieved that I bowed back with quite a broad smile. Mrs Maplestone looked at me more in sorrow than in anger. I suppose she was thinking, "So young and so unkind!" An hour later, from an upstairs window, I saw the car whizzing homewards along the road. It did not stop at our gate. I rather wished it would. After that we were constantly meeting. There seemed a fate in it. If I darted into the post office to buy a penny stamp, he was there buying tobacco. (You _do_ buy tobacco in village post offices!) If I cut across fields and sat on a stile to rest, he came whistling from the opposite direction, and I had to get up to let him pass. If in leaving the house I turned to the right, I met him advancing to the left. If I turned to the left, behold he was striding manfully to the right! Each meeting was the result of absolute chance, but Mistress Chance can play curious pranks at times, and it really seemed as though she was taking a mischievous delight in bringing about these unwished-for encounters. We always bow ceremoniously to each other; he always frowns, and I always smile. Theoretically I am annoyed and indignant; but at the critical moment the comical side of the situation sweeps over me, and out flashes the smile before I can force it back. It is so absurd to see a big grown man sulking like a child! Quite a good thing he does not intend to marry. His wife would have a nerve-racking time.