“Fortunately, it is,” said John, with a mirthful sparkle in his eyes—­“I am sure you would not have liked that ’once upon a time fairy period’ as you call it, at all, Miss Vancourt!  Poets and romancists may tell us that the men were ‘chivalrous and tender,’ but plain fact convinces us that they were very rough unwashen tyrants who used to shut up their ladies in gloomy castles where very little light and air could penetrate,—­and the adoring and devoted ladies, in their turn, made very short work of the whole business by either dying of their own grief and ill-treatment, or else getting killed in cold blood by order of their lords and masters.  Why, one of the finest proofs of an improvement in our civilisation is the freedom of thought and action given to women in the present day.  Personally speaking, I admit to a great fondness for old-fashioned ways, and particularly for old-fashioned manners,- -but I cannot shut my mind to the fact that for centuries women have been unfairly hindered by men in every possible way from all chance of developing the great powers of intelligence they possess,—­and it is certainly time the opposition to their advancement should cease.  Of course, being a man myself,”—­and he smiled—­“I daresay that in my heart of hearts I like the type of woman I first learned to know and love best,—­my mother.  She had the early Victorian, ways,—­they were very simple, but also very sweet.”

He broke off, and for a moment or two they paced the lawn in silence.

“I suppose you live all alone here?” asked Maryllia, suddenly.

“Yes.  Quite alone.”

“And are you happy?”

“I am content.”

“I understand!” and she looked at him somewhat earnestly:—­“‘Happy’ is a word that should seldom be used I think.  It is only at the rarest possible moments that one can feel real true happiness.”

“You are too young to say that,”—­he rejoined gently—­“All your life is before you.  The greater part of mine lies behind me.”  Again she glanced at him somewhat timidly.

“Mr. Walden”—­she began—­“I’m afraid—­I suppose—­I daresay you think—–­”

John caught the appealing flash of the blue eyes, and wondering what she was going to say.  She played with the spray of lilac he had given her, and for a moment seemed to have lost her self-possession.

“I am quite sure,”—­she went on, hurriedly—­“that you—­I mean, I’m afraid you haven’t a very good opinion of me because I don’t go to church—–­”

He looked at her, smiling a little.

“Dor’t you go to church?” he asked—­“I didn’t know it!”

Here was a surprise for the lady of the Manor.  The clergyman of her own parish,—­a man, who by all accepted rule and precedent ought to have been after her at once, asking for subscriptions to this fund and that fund, toadying her for her position, and begging for her name and support, had not even noticed her absence from divine service on Sundays!  She did not know whether to be relieved or dissatisfied.  Such indifference to her actions piqued her feminine pride, and yet, his tone was very kind and courteous.  Noting the colour coming and going on her face, he spoke again—–­