'Hamilton has. I was at Gladwyn the other evening, and had a talk with him. He was a little off-hand about your mission; he thinks you must be romantic, and all that sort of thing. You would have laughed to have heard him talk, and I let him go on just for the joke of it. It was rich to hear him say that he did not believe in hysterical goodness; a girl would do anything now to get herself talked about--no, I did not mean to repeat that,' interrupting himself, with an annoyed air. 'Hamilton always says more than he means. Look, Ursula, there is the White Cottage; that bow-window to the right belongs to your parlour. Now, my dear, I will open the gate, and you must just run up the path as quickly as you can, for you can hardly hold up an umbrella in this wind. You see the cottage does not boast of a carriage-drive.' That odious Mr. Hamilton--or Dr. Hamilton, which was it? No wonder he looked like a Romish priest if he could make those Jesuitical remarks! I felt I almost hated him, but I resolved to banish him from my mind, as I ran past the dripping laurels that bordered the narrow path. The cottage door was open as soon as our fly had stopped at the gate; and by the light I could see the neat flower-borders and clipped yews, and a leafless wide-spreading tree with a seat under it. As I made my way into the porch, a very big man without his coat passed me with a civil 'good-evening.' I thought it must be Nathaniel, from his great height, and of course the prim-looking little widow in black, standing on the threshold, was Mrs. Barton. She had a nice, plaintive face, and spoke in a mild, deprecating voice. 'Good-evening, Mrs. Barton. What dreadful weather! I hope my wet boxes will not spoil the oilcloth.' 'That is easily wiped off, Miss Garston; but I am thinking the damp must have made you chilly. Come into the parlour: there is a fine rousing fire that will soon warm you. A fire is a deal of comfort on a wet, cool night. I have lighted one in your bedroom too.'