Such were not Juliet’s thoughts.  To her such would have seemed as unreal as unintelligible.  To her they would have looked just what some of my readers will pronounce them, not in the least knowing what they are.  She was suddenly roused from her painful reverie by the pulling up of Helen’s ponies, with much clatter and wriggling recoil, close beside her, making more fuss with their toy-carriage than the mightiest of tractive steeds with the chariot of pomp.

“Jump in, Juliet,” cried their driver, addressing her with the greater abandon that she was resolved no stiffness on her part should deposit a grain to the silting up of the channel of former affection.  She was one of the few who understand that no being can afford to let the smallest love-germ die.

Juliet hesitated.  She was not a little bewildered with the sudden recall from the moony plains of memory, and the demand for immediate action.  She answered uncertainly, trying to think what was involved.

“I know your husband is not waiting you at home,” pursued Helen.  “I saw him on Ruber, three fields off, riding away from Glaston.  Jump in, dear.  You can make up that mind of yours in the carriage as well as upon the road.  I will set you down wherever you please.  My husband is out too, so the slaves can take their pleasure.”

Juliet could not resist, had little inclination to do so, yielded without another word, and took her place beside Helen, a little shy of being alone with her, yet glad of her company.  Away went the ponies, and as soon as she had got them settled to their work, Helen turned her face toward Juliet.

“I am so glad to see you!” she said.

Juliet’s heart spoke too loud for her throat.  It was a relief to her that Helen had to keep her eyes on her charge, the quickness of whose every motion rendered watchfulness right needful.

“Have you returned Mrs. Bevis’s call yet!” asked Helen.

“No,” murmured Juliet.  “I haven’t been able yet.”

“Well, here is a good chance.  Sit where you are, and you will be at Nestley in half an hour, and I shall be the more welcome.  You are a great favorite there!”

“How kind you are!” said Juliet, the tears beginning to rise.  “Indeed, Mrs. Wingfold,——­”

“You used to call me Helen!” said that lady, pulling up her ponies with sudden energy, as they shied at a bit of paper on the road, and nearly had themselves and all they drew in the ditch.

“May I call you so still?”

“Surely!  What else?”

“You are too good to me!” said Juliet, and wept outright.

“My dear Juliet,” returned Helen, “I will be quite plain with you, and that will put things straight in a moment.  Your friends understand perfectly why you have avoided them of late, and are quite sure it is from no unkindness to any of them.  But neither must you imagine we think hardly of you for marrying Mr. Faber.  We detest his opinions so much that we feel sure if you saw a little further into them, neither of you would hold them.”