shade of green, the furniture was covered with material of another shade of green and the well-spared carpet exhibited still a third variety of the same colour.  Mrs. Ambrose’s sense of order did not extend to the simplest forms of artistic harmony, but when it had an opportunity of impressing itself upon inanimate objects which were liable to be moved, washed or dusted, its effects were formidable indeed.  She worshipped neatness and cleanliness; she left the question of taste to others.  And now she stood in the keep of her stronghold, the impersonation of moral rectitude and of practical housekeeping.

Mrs. Goddard entered rather timidly, followed by little Eleanor whose ideas had been so much disturbed by the recent change in her existence, that she had grown unusually silent and her great violet eyes were unceasingly opened wide to take in the growing wonders of her situation.  Mrs. Goddard was still dressed in black, as when John Short had seen her five months earlier.  There was something a little peculiar in her mourning, though Mrs. Ambrose would have found it hard to define the peculiarity.  Some people would have said that if she was really a widow her gown fitted a little too well, her bonnet was a little too small, her veil a little too short.  Mrs. Ambrose supposed that those points were suggested by the latest fashions in London and summed up the difficulty by surmising that Mrs. Goddard had foreign blood.

“I should have called before,” said the latter, deeply impressed by the severe appearance of the vicar’s wife, “but I have been so busy putting my things into the cottage—­”

“Pray don’t think of it,” answered Mrs. Ambrose.  Then she added after a pause, “I am very glad to see you.”  She appeared to have been weighing in her conscience the question whether she could truthfully say so or not.  But Mrs. Goddard was grateful for the smallest advances.

“Thank you,” she said, “you are so very kind.  Will you tell Mr. Ambrose how thankful I am for his kind assistance?  Yes, Nellie and I have had hard work in moving, have not we, dear?” She drew the beautiful child close to her and gazed lovingly into her eyes.  But Nellie was shy; she hid her face on her mother’s shoulder, and then looked doubtfully at Mrs. Ambrose, and then hid herself again.

“How old is your little girl?” asked Mrs. Ambrose more kindly.  She was fond of children, and actually pitied any child whose mother perhaps had foreign blood.

“Eleanor—­I call her Nellie—­is eight years old.  She will be nine in January.  She is tall for her age,” added Mrs. Goddard with affectionate pride.  As a matter of fact Nellie was small for her years, and Mrs. Ambrose, who was the most truthful of women, felt that she could not conscientiously agree in calling hex tall.  She changed the subject.

“I am afraid you will find it very quiet in Billingsfield,” she said presently.

“Oh, I am used—­that is, I prefer a very quiet place.  I want to live very quietly for some years, indeed I hope for the rest of my life.  Besides it will be so good for Nellie to live in the country—­she will grow so strong.”