‘Very much.’

’I have never seen the Yorkshire moors.  The scenery, of course, is of a much wilder kind?’

‘I have not seen them myself,’ said the governess.

’I thought you might have taken your holidays sometimes in that direction.’

’No.  We used to go to a seaside place in Lincolnshire called Cleethorpes.  I suppose you never heard of it?’

‘I think not.’

Wilfrid continued to pluck heather, and let his eyes catch a glimpse of her face now and then.  Miss Hood was a year younger than himself, and had well outgrown girlishness.  She was of very slight build, looked indeed rather frail; but her face, though lacking colour, had the firmness of health.  It was very broad at the forehead, and tapered down into narrowness; the eyes seemed set at an unusual distance from each other, though the nose was thin and of perfect form, its profile making but a slight angle away from the line of the brows.  Her lips were large, but finely curved; the chin was prominent, the throat long.  She had warm brown hair.

Few would at first sight have called her face beautiful, but none could deny the beauty of her hands.  Ungloved at present, they lay on the open pages of the book, unsurpassable for delicate loveliness.  When he did not venture to look higher, Wilfrid let his eyes feed on the turn of the wrist, the faint blue lines and sinuous muscles, the pencilling about the finger-joints, the delicate white and pink nails.

Miss Hood was habitually silent when in the company of others than the children.  When she replied to a question it was without timidity, but in few, well-chosen words.  Yet her manner did not lack cheerfulness; she impressed no one as being unhappy, and alone with the twins she was often gay enough.  She was self-possessed, and had the manners of a lady, though in her position this was rather to be observed in what she refrained from doing than in what she did.  Wilfrid had, on first meeting her, remarked to himself that it must imply a Certain force of individuality to vary so distinctly from the commonplace even under the disadvantage of complete self-suppression; he had now come to understand better the way in which that individuality betrayed itself.

‘Shall you go to Cleethorpes this year?’ was his next question.

‘I think not.  I shall most likely pass the holidays at home.’

‘And study electricity?’

In a former conversation she had surprised him by some unexpected knowledge of the principles of electricity, and explained the acquirement by telling him that this subject was her father’s favourite study.  Wilfrid put the question now with a smile.

‘Yes, very likely,’ she replied, smiling also, but faintly.  ’It gives my father pleasure when I do so.’

‘You have not a keen interest in the subject yourself?’

‘I try to have.’

Her voice was of singular quality; if she raised it the effect was not agreeable, owing possibly to its lack of strength, but in low tones, such as she employed at present, it fell on the ear with a peculiar sweetness, a natural melody in its modulation.