thither was by a field-path, starting from the high road within sight of Pear-tree Cottage.  At a rapid walk Quarrier soon reached his goal, and saw with satisfaction that men and boys were sweeping the snowy surface, whilst a few people had already begun to disport themselves where the black ice came to view.  In the afternoon he would come with Lilian; for the present, a second purpose occupied his thoughts.  Standing on the bank of Bale Water (thus was it named), he could see the topmost branches of that pear-tree which grew in the garden behind Mrs. Wade’s cottage; two meadows lay between—­a stretch of about a quarter of a mile.  It was scarcely the hour for calling upon ladies, but he knew that Mrs. Wade sat among her books through the morning, and he wished especially to see her as soon as possible.

Polterham clocks were counting eleven as he presented himself at the door of the cottage.  Once already he had paid a call here, not many days after his meeting with the widow in Mr. Hornibrook’s library; he came at three in the afternoon, and sat talking till nearly six.  Not a few Polterham matrons would have considered that proceeding highly improper, but such a thought never occurred to Denzil; and Mrs. Wade would have spoken her mind very distinctly to any one who wished to circumscribe female freedom in such respects.  They had conversed on a great variety of subjects with unflagging animation.  Since then he had not seen his acquaintance.

A young girl opened to him, and left him standing in the porch for a minute or two.  She returned, and asked him to walk into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Wade was studying with her feet on the fender.

“Do I come unseasonably?” he asked, offering his hand.

“Not if you have anything interesting to say,” was the curious reply.

The widow was not accounted for reception of visitors.  She wore an old though quite presentable dress, with a light shawl about her shoulders, and had evidently postponed the arrangement of her hair until the time of going abroad.  Yet her appearance could hardly be called disconcerting, for it had nothing of slovenliness.  She looked a student, that was all.  For some reason, however, she gave Quarrier a less cordial welcome than he had anticipated.  Her eyes avoided his, she shook hands in a perfunctory way.

“It depends what you call interesting,” was his rejoinder to the unconventional reply.  “I got here yesterday, and brought a wife with me—­there, at all events, is a statement of fact.”

“You have done me the honour to hasten here with the announcement?”

“I came out to see if Bale Water was skateable, and I thought I might venture to make a friendly call whilst I was so near.  But I’m afraid I disturb you?”

“Not a bit Pray sit down and talk.  Of course I have heard of your marriage.  Why didn’t you let me know it was impending?”

“Because I told nobody.  I chose to get married in my own way.  You, Mrs. Wade, are not likely to find fault with me for that.”