“The fact is,” said Rachel, “it is much more difficult to describe from one’s own observation than from other sources.”

“But rather more original,” said Ermine, quite overcome by the naivete of the confession.

“I don’t see that,” said Rachel.  “It is abstract reasoning from given facts that I aim at, as you will understand when you have heard my ‘Human Reeds,’ and my other—­dear me, there’s your door bell.  I thought that Colonel was gone for the day.”

“There are other people in the world besides the Colonel,” Ermine began to say, though she hardly felt as if there were, and at any rate a sense of rescue crossed her.  The persons admitted took them equally by surprise, being Conrade Temple and Mr. Keith.

“I thought,” said Rachel, as she gave her unwilling hand to the latter, “that you would have been at Avoncester to-day.”

“I always get out of the way of horse-dealing.  I know no greater bore,” he answered.

“Mamma sent me down,” Conrade was explaining; “Mr. Keith’s uncle found out that he knew Miss Williams—­no, that’s not it, Miss Williams’ uncle found out that Mr. Keith preached a sermon, or something of that sort, so mamma sent me down to show him the way to call upon her; but I need not stay now, need I?”

“After that elegant introduction, and lucid explanation, I think you may be excused,” returned Alick Keith.

The boy shook Ermine’s hand with his soldierly grace, but rather spoilt the effect thereof by his aside, “I wanted to see the toad and the pictures our Miss Williams told me about, but I’ll come another time;” and the wink of his black eyes, and significant shrug of his shoulders at Rachel, were irresistible.  They all laughed, even Rachel herself, as Ermine, seeing it would be worse to ignore the demonstration, said, “The elements of aunt and boy do not always work together.”

“No,” said Rachel; “I have never been forgiven for being the first person who tried to keep those boys in order.”

“And now,” said Ermine, turning to her other visitor, “perhaps I may discover which of us, or of our uncles, preached a sermon.”

“Mine, I suspect,” returned Mr. Keith.  “Your sister and I made out at luncheon that you had known my uncle, Mr. Clare, of Bishopsworthy.”

“Mr. Clare!  Oh yes,” cried Ermine eagerly, “he took the duty for one of our curates once for a long vacation.  Did you ever hear him speak of Beauchamp?”

“Yes, often; and of Dr. Williams.  He will be very much interested to hear of you.”

“It was a time I well remember,” said Ermine.  “He was an Oxford tutor then, and I was about fourteen, just old enough to be delighted to hear clever talk.  And his sermons were memorable; they were the first I ever listened to.”

“There are few sermons that it is not an infliction to listen to,” began Rachel, but she was not heard or noticed.

“I assure you they are even more striking now in his blindness.”