‘Are you glad to get home, Miss Hazel?’

‘Yes, sir.  The drive was rather stupid.’

‘Did you come alone?’

’I had Madame in person, and with her all the unquiet ghosts of the neighbourhood, I should judge,’—­added Miss Hazel thoughtfully slipping her bracelets up and down.

‘Scandal, eh?’ said Mr. Falkirk.  ’And yet the drive was stupid!’

’Incredible, sir, is it not?  But you see, I had been ever so long face to face with the brook!—­’

‘I do not know that I am fond of scandal,’ said Mr. Falkirk; ’and yet I should like to know what particular variety of that favourite dish Madame chose to serve you with.  And in the mean time, to relieve the dryness of the subject, Miss Hazel, will you give me a cup of tea?’

She sprang up, and began to busy herself at once with her home duties, but did not immediately answer his question.  Until she came round to his side, bringing the fragrant and steaming cup of tea, and then apparently thoughts were too much for her, and she broke forth: 

’Why don’t people marry each other if they want to, Mr. Falkirk?’ she said, standing still to put the question.  ’And if they don’t want to, why do not other people let them alone?’

Mr. Falkirk shot one of his glances at the questioner from under his dark brows, and sipped his tea.

’There might be a variety of answers given to your first query, Miss Hazel.  People that want to marry each other are proverbially subject to hindrances—­from the days of fairy tales down to our own.’

‘They always do it in fairy tales, however.’

‘They very often do it in real life,’ said Mr. Falkirk gravely.

’Well, sir?—­then why cannot they be left to take care of themselves, either way?  It is such fudge!’ she said, walking back to her place and energetically dropping sugar in her own cup.

‘Who is Mme. Lasalle trying to take care of?’

’Me, last, sir.  Warning me that things laughed at become dangerous.  In which case I shall lead a tolerably risky life.’

‘Who is Mme. Lasalle warning you against?’ demanded Mr. Falkirk hastily.

’My dear sir, how excited you are over poor Mme. Lasalle!  I presumed to laugh at some of her fancy sketches, and then of course she rapped me over the knuckles.  Or meant it!’ said Miss Hazel, slightly lifting her eyebrows.

‘But I observe you do not answer me, my dear.’

’No, sir,—­if you will allow me to use my own judgment, I think I had better not.  Let me have your cup, Mr. Falkirk please, and I’ll put more sugar in this time.’

Mr. Falkirk finished his tea and made no more observations.  He was silent and thoughtful,—­moody, his ward might have fancied him,—­while the tea-things were cleared away, and afterwards pored over the newspaper and did not read it.  At last, when silence had reigned some time, he lifted his head up and turned round to where Wych Hazel sat.