“I must make it easy for him,” Edwin thought. “However impossible it may seem, I must make it easy. I must know him. I must love him. Whatever it costs I must love him. It is ridiculous that I should have to choose my words and even at times be a little dishonest when it ought to be the most natural and easy thing in the world to be myself with him. Of course it’s difficult at present; but later on, when we know each other better, it will be all right.” When they returned to their lodging their clothes were wet, and they went together into the kitchen of the defunct publican’s daughter. She gave them two of her husband’s coats to wear while their own were drying, and for a long time they sat over the fire talking to her. It was evident that though Mr. Ingleby was himself unknown to her, she knew all about his family; for she asked him many questions about various people in Highberrow and Wringford, whom they knew in common. Mr. Ingleby could tell her very little, but the landlady was able to supply him with a lot of gossip from the Mendip villages. “We heard that you were married,” she said. “Yes,” replied Mr. Ingleby. “But I’ve just had a great blow. I’ve lost my wife.” “Dear, dear . . . that’s very sad for ’ee.” “Yes. . . . I shall never get over it.” “And this is your eldest? My word, how time flies!” “Yes. . . . He’s the only one.” “To look at him at first you wouldn’t say there was much of an Ingleby in him.” “No. He takes after his mother’s family.” “And yet, on second thoughts, he’s got a look of your brother William’s boy, Joe, about his eyes. Now that’s a strange thing. Talking of your brother William, I haven’t seen or heard of him for years.” “I haven’t seen him for twenty years myself. We’re cycling to Wringford to-morrow. We shall put up with him.” “Well, remember me to him. He was always a great favourite of dad’s.” “Will’s a good fellow.” “I suppose he’s in the same place? Mr. Grisewood would be a fool to get rid of a man like that. Good gardeners are scarce. . . .” Edwin could not understand this at all. It was obvious that the woman must be making some mistake; for it was clearly impossible that his Uncle William could be a gardener. Still, his father offered no protest. “They tell me,” she went on in her soft West-country voice, “that he’ve apprenticed that boy Joe to Hares, the shoeing-smith.” “I didn’t know that,” said Mr. Ingleby. “Well, of course, it may be all right,” the landlady went on, “but there’s always the future to think on. My husband always says that the day of the horse is over. What with steam and electricity, and these new things that I see in the paper they are running from London to Brighton! There’s a gentleman near Bridgewater who has one of these new motor-cars on the road. Of course, I suppose they are fairly reliable on the flat.”