They went down the hill, talking lightly and easily; and to Howard it was more delightful than anything he had known to have a peep into the girl’s frank and ingenuous mind.  She was full of talk—­ spontaneous, inconsequent talk—­like Jack; and yet with a vast difference.  Hers was not a wholly happy temperament, Howard thought; she seemed oppressed by a sense of duty, and he could not help feeling that she needed some sort of outlet.  Neither the Vicar nor Jack were people who stood in need of sympathy or affection.  He felt that they did not quite understand the drift of the girl’s mind, which seemed clear enough to him.  And yet there fell on him, for all his happiness, a certain dissatisfaction.  He would have liked to feel less elderly, less paternal; and the girl’s frank confidence in him, treating him as she might have treated an uncle or an elder brother, was at once delightful and disconcerting.  The day began to decline as they walked, and the light faded to a sombre bleakness.  Howard went back to the Vicarage with her, and, at her urgent request, went in to tea.  They found the Vicar and Dr. Grierson already established.  Mrs. Darby was quite comfortable, and no danger was apprehended.  The Vicar’s diagnosis had been right, and his precautions perfect.  “I could not have done better myself!” said Dr. Grierson, a kindly, bluff Scotchman.  Howard became aware that the Vicar must have told the Doctor the news about his inheritance, and was subtly flattered at being treated by him with the empressement reserved for squires.  Jack came in—­he had been shooting all afternoon—­and told Howard he was improving.  “I shall catch you up,” he said.  He seemed frankly amused at the idea of Howard having spent the afternoon with Maud.  “You have got the whole family on your back, it seems,” he said.  Maud was silent, but in her heightened colour and sparkling eye Howard discerned a touch of happiness, and he enjoyed the quiet attention she gave to his needs.  The Vicar seemed sorry that they had not made a closer inspection of the village.  “But you were right to begin with a general coup d’oeil,” he said; “the whole before the parts!  First the conspectus, then the details,” he added delightedly.  “So you have been to the Isle of Thorns?” he went on.  “I want to rake out the old fellow up there some day—­but Cousin Anne won’t allow it—­ you must persuade her; and we will have a splendid field-day there, unearthing all the old boy’s arrangements; I am sure he has never been disturbed.”

“I am afraid I agree with my aunt,” said Howard, shaking his head.

“Ah, Maud has been getting at you, I perceive,” said the Vicar.  “A very feminine view!  Now in the interests of ethnology we ought to go forward—­dear me, how full the world is of interesting things!”

They parted in great good-humour.  The whole party were to dine at the Manor next day; and Howard, as he said good-bye to Maud, contrived to add, “Now you must tell me to-morrow that you have made a beginning.”  She gave him a little nod, and a clasp of the hand that made him feel that he had a new friend.