Raymond met Estelle on his way from the works and together they walked home.  Here and there in the cottage doorways sat women braiding.  Among them was Sally Groves—­now grown too old and slow to tend the ’Card’—­and accident willed that she should make an opening for thoughts that now filled Ironsyde’s mind.  They stopped, for Sally was an old acquaintance of both, and Estelle valued the big woman for her resolute character and shrewd sense.  Now Sally, on strength of long-standing friendship, grew personal.  It was an ancient joke to chaff Miss Groves about marriage, but to-day, when Raymond asked if the net she made was to catch a husband, Sally retorted with spirit.

“All very fine for you two to be poking fun at me,” she said.  “But what about you?  It’s time you made up your minds I’m sure, for everybody knows you’re in love with each other—­though you don’t yourselves seemingly.”

“Give us a lead, Sally,” suggested Raymond; but she shook her head.

“You’re old enough to know your own business,” she answered; “but don’t you go lecturing other people about matrimony while you’re a bachelor yourself—­else you’ll get the worst of it—­as you have now.”

They left her and laughed together.

“Yet I’ve heard you say she was the most sensible woman that ever worked in the mills,” argued Raymond.

Estelle made no direct reply, but spoke of Sally in the past at one of her parties, when the staff took holiday and spent a day at Weymouth.

Their conversation faded before they reached North Hill House, and then, as they entered the drive, Raymond reminded Estelle of a time long vanished and an expedition taken when she was a child.

“Talking of good things, d’you remember our walk to Chilcombe in the year one?  Or, to be more exact, when you were in short frocks.”

“I remember well enough.  How my chatter must have bored you.”

“You never bored me in your life, Chicky.  In fact, you always seem to have been a part of my life since I began to live.  That event happened soon after our walk, if I remember rightly.  You really seem as much a part of my life as my right hand, Estelle.”

“Well, your right hand can’t bore you, certainly.”

“Some of the things that it has done have bored me.  But let’s go to Chilcombe again—­not in the car—­but just tramp it as we did before.  How often have you been there since we went?”

She considered.

“Twice, I think.  My friends there left ten years ago and my girl friend died.  I haven’t been there since I grew up.”

“Well, come this afternoon.”

“It’s going to rain, Ray.”

“Since when did rain frighten you?”

“I’d love to come.”

“A walk will do me good,” he said.  “I’m getting jolly lazy.”

“So father thinks.  He hates motors—­says they are going to make the next generation flabby and good-for-nothing.”