She then went on to talk about some Walford people, and asked me if I knew Mary Talbot.  I replied in the affirmative, for Miss Talbot was a member of our literary society, and the young lady informed me that Mary Talbot had a brother in my school—­a fact of which I was aware to my sorrow—­and it was on account of this brother that she had first happened to see me.

“See me!” I exclaimed, with surprise.

“Yes,” said she.  “I drove over to the village one day this spring, and Mary and I were walking past your school-house, and the door was wide open, for it was so warm, and we stopped so that Mary might point out her brother to me; and so, as we were looking in, of course I saw you.”

“And you recognized me,” I said, “when you saw me at the gardener’s house?”

“We call that the lodge,” said she.  “Not that I care in the least what name you give it.  And while we are on a personal subject, I want to ask you to excuse me for laughing at you when I first saw you in that astounding garb.  It was very improper, I know, but the apparition was so sudden I could not help it.”

I had never met a young lady so thoroughly self-contained as this one.  None of the formalities of society had been observed in regard to our acquaintance with each other, but she talked with me with such an easy grace and with such a gentle assurance that there was no need of introduction or presentation; I felt acquainted with her on the spot.  I had no doubt that her exceptionally gracious demeanor was due to the fact that nobody else in the house seemed inclined to be gracious, and she felt hospitality demanded that something of the kind should be offered me by some one of the family.

We talked together for some minutes longer, and then, apparently hearing something in the house which I did not notice, she rose rather abruptly.

“I must go in,” she said; “but don’t you stay out here a second longer than you want to.”

She had left me but a very short time when her father came out on the piazza, his coat buttoned up nearly to his chin.  “I have been detained, sir,” he said, “by a man who came to see me on business.  I cannot remain with you out here, for the air affects me; but if you will come in, sir, I shall be glad to have you do so, without regard to your appearance.  My wife is not strong and she has retired, and if it pleases you I shall be very glad to have you tell me something of your duties and success in Walford.  Or, if you are fatigued, your room is ready for you, and my man will show you to it.”

I snatched at the relief held out to me.  To sit in the company of that condescending prig, to bore him and to be bored by him, was a doleful grievance I did not wish to inflict upon myself, and I eagerly answered that the day had been a long and hard one, and that I would be glad to go to bed.

This was an assertion which was doubly false, for I was not in the least tired or sleepy; and just as I had made the statement and was entering the hall I saw that the young lady was standing at the parlor door; but it was too late now for me to change my mind.