Now that he was gone, and no longer a source of danger to her family’s reputation, she found herself liking Sir Harry again.  He had always been friendly, and though she fundamentally disapproved of his “ways,” she was woman enough to be thrilled by his lurid reputation.  Moreover, he provided a link, her last living link, with Martin’s days—­now that strange women kept rabbits in the backyards of North Farthing and the rooms were full of the Deal bootmaker’s resplendent suites, that time of dew and gold and dreams seemed to have faded still further off.  For many years it had lain far away on the horizon, but now it seemed to have faded off the earth altogether, and to live only in the sunset sky or in the dim moon-risings, which sometimes woke her out of her sleep with a start, as if she slipped on the verge of some troubling memory.

This kindlier state of affairs lasted for about a month, during which Joanna saw very little of Ellen.  She was at rest about her sister, for the fact that Ellen might be feeling lonely and unhappy at the departure of her friend did not trouble her in the least; such emotions, so vile in their source, could not call for any sympathy.  Besides, she was busy, hunting for a new cowman to work under Broadhurst, whose undertakings, since the establishment of the milk-round, had almost come to equal those of the looker in activity and importance.

She was just about to set out one morning for a farm near Brenzett, when she saw Arthur Alce come up to the door on horseback.

“Hullo, Jo!” he called rather anxiously through the window.  “Have you got Ellen?”

“I?—­No.  Why should I have her, pray?”

“Because I ain’t got her.”

“What d’you mean?  Get down, Arthur, and come and talk to me in here.  Don’t let everyone hear you shouting like that.”

Arthur hitched his horse to the paling and came in.

“I thought maybe I’d find her here,” he said.  “I ain’t seen her since breakfast.”

“There’s other places she could have gone besides here.  Maybe she’s gone shopping in Romney and forgot to tell you.”

“It’s queer her starting off like that without a word—­and she’s took her liddle bag and a few bits of things with her too.”

“What things?—­Arthur!  Why couldn’t you tell me that before?”

“I was going to....  I’m feeling a bit anxious, Jo....  I’ve a feeling she’s gone after that Old Squire.”

“You dare say such a thing!  Arthur, I’m ashamed of you, believing such a thing of your wife and my sister.”

“Well, she was unaccountable set on him.”

“Nonsense!  He just amused her.  It’s you whose wife she is.”

“She’s scarce given me a word more’n in the way of business, as you might say, this last three month.  And she won’t let me touch her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t want to trouble you, and I thought maybe it was a private matter.”