Indeed the squire had not shown himself to be so, on the whole, and he did not refer to the matter again during the evening.  He kept his place for some time by Mrs. Goddard’s side and then, judging that he had sufficiently asserted his superiority, rose and talked to Mrs. Ambrose.  But John, being now in a thoroughly bad humour, could not take his vacant seat with a good grace.  He stood aloof and took up a book that lay upon the table and avoided looking at Mrs. Goddard.  By and by, when the party broke up, he said good-night in such a particularly cold and formal tone of voice that she stared at him in surprise.  But he took no notice of her look and went away after the Ambroses, in that state of mind which boys call a huff.

But on the following day John repented of his behaviour.  All day long he wandered about the garden of the vicarage, excusing himself from joining the daily skating which formed the staple of amusement during the Christmas week, by saying that he had an idea for a copy of verses and must needs work it out.  But he inwardly hoped that Mrs. Goddard would come to the vicarage late in the afternoon, without the inevitable Mr. Juxon, and that he might then get a chance of talking to her.  He was not quite sure what he should say.  He would find words on the spur of the moment; it would at all events be much easier than to meet her on the ice at the Hall with all the rest of them and to see Mr. Juxon pushing her about in that detestable chair, with the unruffled air of superiority which John so hated to see upon his face.  The vicar suspected more than ever that there was something wrong; he had seen some of the by-play on the previous evening, and had noticed John’s ill-concealed disappointment at being unable to dislodge the sturdy squire from his seat.  But Mrs. Ambrose seemed to be very obtuse, and the vicar would have been the last to have spoken of his suspicions, even to the wife of his bosom.  It was his duty to induce John to go back to his work at the end of the week; it was not his duty to put imputations upon him which Mrs. Ambrose would naturally exaggerate and which would drive her excellent heart into a terrible state of nervous anxiety.

But Mrs. Goddard did not come back to the vicarage on that day, and John went to dinner with a sad heart.  It did not seem like a day at all if he had not seen her and talked with her.  He had now no doubt whatever that he was seriously in love, and he set himself to consider his position.  The more he considered it, the more irreconcilable it seemed to be with the passion which beset him.  A child could see that for several years, at least, he would not be in a position to marry.  With Mr. Juxon at hand from year’s end to year’s end, the owner of the Hall, of the Billingsfield property and according to all appearances of other resources besides,—­with such a man constantly devoted to her, could Mrs. Goddard be expected to wait for poor John three years, even