“If you like it—­that is different,” answered John impatiently.

Mrs. Goddard began to think that John was very like a spoiled child, and she resented his evident wish to monopolise her society.  She left the room to get ready for the walk, vaguely wishing that he had not come.

“I have made a fool of myself again,” said John to himself, when he was left alone; and he suddenly wished he could get out of the house without seeing her again.  But before he had done wishing, she returned.

“Where is Miss Nellie?” he asked gloomily, as they walked down the path.  “I hope she is coming too.”

“She went up to the pond with Mr. Juxon, just before you came.”

“Do you let her go about like that, without you?” asked John severely.

“Why not?  Really, Mr. Short,” said Mrs. Goddard, glancing up at his face, “either you dislike Mr. Juxon very much, or else I think you take a good deal upon yourself in remarking—­in this way—­”

She was naturally a little timid, but John’s youth and what she considered as his extraordinary presumption inspired her with courage to protest.  The effect upon John was instantaneous.

“Pray forgive me,” he said humbly, “I am very silly.  I daresay you are quite right and I do not like Mr. Juxon.  Not that I have the smallest reason for not liking him,” he continued quickly, “it is a mere personal antipathy, a mere idea, I daresay—­very foolish of me.”

“It is very foolish to take unreasonable dislikes to people one knows nothing about,” she said quietly.  “Will you please open the gate?” They were standing before the bars, but John was so much disturbed in mind that he stood still, quite forgetting to raise the long iron latch.

“Dear me—­I beg your pardon—­I cannot imagine what I was thinking of,” he said, making the most idiotic excuse current in English idiom.

“Nor I,” said Mrs. Goddard, with a little laugh, as he held the gate back for her to pass.  It was a plain white gate with stone pillars, and there was no gatehouse.  People who came to the Hall were expected to open it for themselves.  Mrs. Goddard was so much amused at John’s absence of mind that her good humour returned, and he felt that since that object was attained he no longer regretted his folly in the least.  The cloud that had darkened the horizon of his romance had passed quickly away, and once more he said inwardly that he was enjoying the happiest days of his life.  If for a moment the image of Mr. Juxon entered the field of his imaginative vision in the act of pushing Mrs. Goddard’s chair upon the ice, he mentally ejaculated “bother the squire!” as he had done upon the previous night, and soon forgot all about him.  The way through the park was long, the morning was delightful and Mrs. Goddard did not seem to be in a hurry.

“I wish the winter would last for ever,” he said presently.

“So do I,” answered his companion, “it is the pleasantest time of the year.  One does not feel that nature is dead because one is sure she will very soon be alive again.”