It was not long before he had an opportunity of judging for himself of what Mr. Ambrose called the recent addition to Billingsfield society.  On the very afternoon of his arrival the vicar proposed to walk up to the Hall and have a look at the library, and John readily assented.  It was Christmas Eve and the weather, even in Essex, was sharp and frosty.  The muddy road was frozen hard and the afternoon sun, slanting through the oak trees that bordered the road beyond the village, made no perceptible impression on the cold.  The two men walked briskly in the direction of the park gate.  Before they had quite reached it however, the door of the cottage opposite was opened, and Stamboul, the Russian bloodhound, bounded down the path, cleared the wicket gate in his vast stride, and then turning suddenly crouched in the middle of the road to wait for his master.  But the dog instantly caught sight of the vicar, with whom he was on very good terms, and trotted slowly up to him, thrusting his great nose into his hand, and then proceeding to make acquaintance with John.  He seemed to approve of the stranger, for he gave a short sniff of satisfaction and trotted back to the wicket of the cottage.  At this moment Mrs. Goddard and Nellie came out, followed by the squire arrayed in his inevitable green stockings.  There was however no rose in his coat.  Whether the greenhouses at the Hall had failed to produce any in the bitter weather, or whether Mr. Juxon had transferred the rose from his coat to the possession of Mrs. Goddard, is uncertain.  The three came out into the road where the vicar and John stood still to meet them.

“Mrs. Goddard,” said the clergyman, “this is Mr. Short, of whom you have heard—­John, let me introduce you to Mr. Juxon.”

John felt that he blushed violently as he took Mrs. Goddard’s hand.  He would not have believed that he could feel so much embarrassed, and he hated himself for betraying it.  But nobody noticed his colour.  The weather was bright and cold, and even Mrs. Goddard’s pale and delicate skin had a rosy tinge.

“We were just going for a walk,” she explained.

“And we were going to see you at the Hall,” said the vicar to Mr. Juxon.

“Let us do both,” said the latter.  “Let us walk to the Hall and have a cup of tea.  We can look at the ice and see whether it will bear to-morrow.”

Everybody agreed to the proposal, and it so fell out that the squire and the vicar went before while John and Mrs. Goddard followed and Nellie walked between them, holding Stamboul by the collar, and talking to him as she went.  John looked at his companion, and saw with a strange satisfaction that his first impression, the impression he had cherished so long, had not been a mistaken one.  Her deep violet eyes were still sad, beautiful and dreamy.  Her small nose was full of expression, and was not reddened by the cold as noses are wont to be.  Her rich brown hair waved across her forehead as it did on