“Ah!” said the smith.

“She’s so taking, you know,” said Mrs. Rickett, as if in extenuation of this outrageous surmise.  “And there isn’t anyone good enough for him about here.  Of course there’s the infant teacher—­that Jarvis girl—­she’d set her cap at him if she dared.  But he wouldn’t look at her.  Young Jack’s a deal more likely, if ever he does settle down—­which I doubt.  But Dick—­he’s different.  He’s—­why if that ain’t Mr. Fielding a-riding up the path!  What ever do he want at this time of night?  Go and see, George, do!”

George lumbered to his feet obediently.  “Happen he’s come to call on our young lady,” he ventured, with a slow grin.

“Well, don’t bring him in here!” commanded his wife.  “Take him into the front room, while I put on a clean apron!” She hastened to shut the door upon her husband, then paused, listening intently, as Mr. Fielding’s riding-whip rapped smartly on the door.

“Happen it is only the young lady he’s after,” she said to herself.

It was.  In a moment, Mr. Fielding’s voice, superior, slightly over bearing, made itself heard.  “Good evening, Rickett!  I think Miss Moore is lodging here.  Is she in?”

“Good evening, sir!” said Rickett, and waited a moment for reflection.  “She was in, but I can’t say but what she may have gone out again with the dog.”

“Well, find out, will you!” said Mr. Fielding.  “Wait a minute!  You’d better take my card.”

Mrs. Rickett returned to her ironing.  “What ever he be come for?” she murmured.

The Squires’ horse stamped on the tiled path.  It was eight o’clock, and he wanted to get home to his supper.  The squire growled at him inarticulately, and there fell a silence.

The evening light spread golden over the apple-trees in the orchard.  Someone was wandering among the falling blossoms.  He heard a low voice softly singing.  He flung his leg over his horse’s back abruptly and dropped to the ground.

The voice stopped immediately.  The squire fastened his animal to the porch and turned.  The next moment Columbus burst barking through the intervening hedge.

“Columbus!  Columbus!” called Juliet’s voice.  “Come back at once!”

“May I come through?” said Mr. Fielding.

She arrived at the orchard-gate, flushed and apologetic.  “Oh, pray do!  Please excuse Columbus!  He always speaks before he thinks.”

She opened the gate with the words, and held out her hand.

She was aware of his eyes looking at her very searchingly as he took it.  “I hope you don’t mind a visitor at this hour,” he said.

She smiled.  “No.  I am quite at liberty.  Come and sit down!”

She led the way to a bench under the apple-trees, and the squire tramped after her with jingling spurs.

“I’m afraid you’ll think me very unconventional,” he said, speaking with a sort of arrogant humility as she stopped.