‘I’ve just locked up, sir.’

‘Ah!  Yes.  It’s late.’

They stood a few paces apart.  Mr. Ruddiman had one hand in his waistcoat pocket, the other behind his back; Miss Fouracres was fingering her chin.

‘I’ve been wondering,’ said the under-master in a diffident voice, ’how you’ll manage all alone, Miss Fouracres.’

‘Well, sir,’ was the equally diffident reply, ‘I’ve been wondering too.’

‘It won’t be easy to manage the Pig and Whistle all alone.’

‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

’Besides, you couldn’t live here in absolute solitude.  It wouldn’t be safe.’

‘I shouldn’t quite like it, sir.’

’But I’m sure you wouldn’t like to leave the Pig and Whistle, Miss Fouracres?’

‘I’d much rather stay, sir, if I could any way manage it.’

Mr. Ruddiman drew a step nearer.

’Do you know, Miss Fouracres, I’ve been thinking just the same.  The fact is, I don’t like the thought of leaving the Pig and Whistle; I don’t like it at all.  This life suits me.  Could you’—­he gave a little laugh—­’engage me as your assistant, Miss Fouracres?’

‘Oh, sir!’

‘You couldn’t?’

‘How can you think of such a thing, sir.’

’Well, then, there’s only one way out of the difficulty that I can see.  Do you think—­’

Had it not been dark Mr. Ruddiman would hardly have ventured to make the suggestion which fell from him in a whisper.  Had it not been dark Miss Fouracres would assuredly have hesitated much longer before giving her definite reply.  As it was, five minutes of conversation solved what had seemed a harder problem than any the under-master set to his class at Longmeadows, and when these two turned to enter the Pig and Whistle, they went hand in hand.