Clara glanced up at the clouds and closed her parasol.  She replied, “It inspires timidity.”

There was that in the accent and character of the answer which warned Laetitia to expect the reverse of a quiet chatter with Miss Middleton.

“You are fond of walking?” She chose a peaceful topic.

“Walking or riding; yes, of walking,” said Clara.  “The difficulty is to find companions.”

“We shall lose Mr. Whitford next week.”

“He goes?”

“He will be a great loss to me, for I do not ride,” Laetitia replied to the off-hand inquiry.

“Ah!”

Miss Middleton did not fan conversation when she simply breathed her voice.

Laetitia tried another neutral theme.

“The weather to-day suits our country,” she said.

“England, or Patterne Park?  I am so devoted to mountains that I have no enthusiasm for flat land.”

“Do you call our country flat, Miss Middleton?  We have undulations, hills, and we have sufficient diversity, meadows, rivers, copses, brooks, and good roads, and pretty by-paths.”

“The prettiness is overwhelming.  It is very pretty to see; but to live with, I think I prefer ugliness.  I can imagine learning to love ugliness.  It’s honest.  However young you are, you cannot be deceived by it.  These parks of rich people are a part of the prettiness.  I would rather have fields, commons.”

“The parks give us delightful green walks, paths through beautiful woods.”

“If there is a right-of-way for the public.”

“There should be,” said Miss Dale, wondering; and Clara cried:  “I chafe at restraint:  hedges and palings everywhere!  I should have to travel ten years to sit down contented among these fortifications.  Of course I can read of this rich kind of English country with pleasure in poetry.  But it seems to me to require poetry.  What would you say of human beings requiring it?”

“That they are not so companionable but that the haze of distance improves the view.”

“Then you do know that you are the wisest?”

Laetitia raised her dark eyelashes; she sought to understand.  She could only fancy she did; and if she did, it meant that Miss Middleton thought her wise in remaining single.

Clara was full of a sombre preconception that her “jealousy” had been hinted to Miss Dale.

“You knew Miss Durham?” she said.

“Not intimately.”

“As well as you know me?”

“Not so well.”

“But you saw more of her?”

“She was more reserved with me.”

“Oh!  Miss Dale, I would not be reserved with you.”

The thrill of the voice caused Laetitia to steal a look.  Clara’s eyes were bright, and she had the readiness to run to volubility of the fever-stricken; otherwise she did not betray excitement.

“You will never allow any of these noble trees to be felled, Miss Middleton?”