As soon as Mrs. Maberley’s ripple of talk had died away, I told her a little about my work, and how much I liked my life at Heathfield, and then I spoke of my great interest in Gladys Hamilton.

It was really very pleasant sitting in this warm, softly-lighted room and talking to this charming, kind-hearted old lady.  Christmas Eve was not so dull, after all, as I had expected; it was nice to feel that I was making a new friend,—­that the little service I had rendered Mrs. Maberley had broken down the barrier between us and overcome her prejudice.  I knew that Miss Darrell had set her against me, and that for some reason of her own she wished to prevent her calling upon me.

Did Miss Darrell dislike my coming to Heathfield?  Was she afraid of finding me in her way?  Was she at all desirous of making my stay irksome to me?  These were some of the questions I was continually asking myself.

I noticed that Mrs. Maberley sighed and shook her head when I spoke of Miss Hamilton.  As I warmed to my subject, and praised her beauty and gentleness and intelligence, she sighed still more.

’Yes, she is a dear girl, a dear good girl; but she has never been the same since Eric went.  Does she talk to you about Eric, Miss Garston?  Etta says she talks of nothing else to her.’

I opened my eyes rather widely at this statement, for I could not forget what Miss Hamilton had said to me that night:  ’I have never spoken to any one about Eric.’  Was it likely that she would choose Miss Darrell for a confidante?  But I kept my incredulity to myself, and simply related to Mrs. Maberley the circumstance that I had seen the photograph by accident the previous evening, and only knew then that Miss Hamilton had had a twin-brother.

‘How very singular!’ she observed, putting down her tea-cup in a hurry.  ’I should have thought every one in the place would have spoken about the young man, he was such a favourite; and it was no use Mr. Hamilton trying to keep it a secret.  Why, the postmaster’s wife told me before Eric had been gone twenty-four hours, and then I went to Mr. Cunliffe.  Why, child, do you mean your uncle has never told you about it?’

’Oh no, Uncle Max never repeats anything; he would be the last person from whom I should hear it.’

’And yet he was up at Gladwyn every day,—­ay, twice a day; and people said—­But what an old gossip I am!  Well, about poor Eric, there can be no harm in your knowing what all the world knows, even Marvel and Tracy; it is a very sore subject with poor Mr. Hamilton, and no one dares to mention Eric’s name to him; but, as Etta says, Gladys can never hold her tongue about him when they two are alone together.’  I certainly held mine at that moment.  I began to wonder what Miss Darrell would say next.

’So you have seen his picture, Miss Garston, my dear:  well, now, is it not a beautiful face?—­not sufficiently manly, as the colonel says; but then, poor fellow, he had not a strong character.  Still, it was a lovely sight to see them together:  our gardens join, you know, and often and often, as I have sat under our beech, I have seen Gladys and Eric walking up and down the little avenue, with his arm round her, and their two heads shining like gold, and she would be talking to him and smiling in his face, until it made me quite young to see them.’