Mrs. Colwood could only say that Miss Mallory seemed to be in love with everything—­the house, the church, the village, and the neighbors.  Mrs. Roughsedge shook her gray curls, smiling, as she replied that this was no doubt partly due to novelty.  After her long residence abroad, Miss Mallory was—­it was very evident—­glad to come home.  Poor thing—­she must have known a great deal of trouble—­an only child, and no mother!  “Well, I’m sure if there’s anything we can do—­”

Mrs. Roughsedge nodded cheerfully towards her husband and son in front.  The gesture awakened a certain natural reserve in Mrs. Colwood, followed by a quick feeling of amusement with herself that she should so soon have developed the instinct of the watch-dog.  But it was not to be denied that the new mistress of Beechcote was well endowed, as single women go.  Fond mothers with marriageable sons might require some handling.

But Mrs. Roughsedge’s simple kindness soon baffled distrust.  And Mrs. Colwood was beginning to talk freely, when suddenly the Vicar and Miss Mallory in front came to a stop.  The way to the Vicarage lay along a side road.  The Roughsedges also, who had walked so far for sociability’s sake, must return to the village and early dinner.  The party broke up.  Miss Mallory, as she made her good-byes, appeared a little flushed and discomposed.  But the unconscious fire in her glance, and the vigor of her carriage, did but add to her good looks.  Captain Roughsedge, as he touched her hand, asked whether he should find her at home that afternoon if he called, and Diana absently said yes.

“What a strange impracticable man!” cried Miss Mallory hotly, as the ladies turned into the Beechcote drive.  “It is really a misfortune to find a man of such opinions in this place.”

“The Vicar?” said Mrs. Colwood, bewildered

“A Little Englander!—­a socialist!  And so rude too!  I asked him to let me help him with, his poor—­and he threw back my offers in my face.  What they wanted, he said, was not charity, but justice.  And justice apparently means cutting up the property of the rich, and giving it to the poor.  Is it my fault if the Vavasours neglected their cottages?  I just mentioned emigration, and he foamed!  I am sure he would give away the Colonies for a pinch of soap, and abolish the Army and Navy to-morrow.”

Diana’s face glowed with indignation—­with wounded feeling besides.  Mrs. Colwood endeavored to soothe her, but she remained grave and rather silent for some time.  The flow of Christmas feeling and romantic pleasure had been arrested, and the memory of a harsh personality haunted the day.  In the afternoon, however, in the unpacking of various pretty knick-knacks, and in the putting away of books and papers, Diana recovered herself.  She flitted about the house, arranging her favorite books, hanging pictures, and disposing embroideries.  The old walls glowed afresh under her hand, and from the combination