“It do Trivett so much good to see a new face.  It help him with his music,” she explained.

“We might walk back by the canal,” suggested Trivett.  “It look zo zolemn by moonlight.”

Upon Mavis’ assenting, they joined the canal where the tow-path is at one with the road by the railway bridge.

“How long have you been in Pennington?” asked Mavis presently.

“A matter o’ ten years.  We come from North Petherton, near Tarnton.”

“Then you didn’t know my father?”

“No, miss, though I’ve heard tark of him in Melkbridge.”

“Do you know anything of Mr Perigal?” she asked presently.

“Which one:  the old or the young un?”

“Th—­the old one.”

“A queer old stick, they zay, though I’ve never set eyes on un.  He don’t hit it off with his zon, neither.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Both.  Do ’ee know young Mr Charles?”

“I’ve met him.”

“H’m!”

“What’s the matter with him?”

Mr Trivett solemnly shook his head.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s hard to zay.  But from what I zee an’ from what I hear tell, he be a deal too clever.”

“Isn’t that an advantage nowadays?”

“Often.  But he’s quarrelled with his feyther and zoon gets tired of everything he takes up.”

Trivett’s remarks increased Mavis’ sympathy for Perigal.  The more he had against him, the more necessary it was for those who liked him to make allowance for flaws in his disposition.  Kindly encouragement might do much where censure had failed.

Days passed without Mavis seeing more of Perigal.  His indifference to her existence hurt the little vanity that she possessed.  At the same time, she wondered if the fact of her not having written to thank him for the violets had anything to do with his making no effort to seek her out.  Her perplexities on the matter made her think of him far more than she might have done had she met him again.  If Perigal had wished to figure conspicuously in the girl’s thoughts, he could not have chosen a better way to achieve that result.

Some three weeks after her meeting with him, she was sitting in her nook reading, when she was conscious of a feeling of helplessness stealing over her.  Then a shadow darkened the page.  She looked up, to see Perigal standing behind her.

“Interesting?” he asked.

“Very.”

“Sorry.”

He moved away.  Mavis tried to go on with her book, but could not fix her attention upon what she read.  Her heart was beating rapidly.  She followed the man’s retreating figure with her eyes; it expressed a dejection that moved her pity.  Although she felt that she was behaving in a manner foreign to her usual reserve, she closed her book, got up and walked after Perigal.

He heard her approaching and turned round.

“There’s no occasion to follow me,” he said.