For a short time, there was silence between the girls. Why did Jean's thoughts take her with a rush to another drive some months ago in an open dog-cart, to another silent driver?
She rushed into speech at once.
"Have we a long drive? It is very good of you to come to meet me."
"About four miles. We have no man to spare at present, and I liked coming."
"How delicious the air is! I was beginning to feel very tired, and now I am quite reviving. Are you near the sea?"
"No, but we can see the moor from our bedroom windows. I like the moor air as well as the sea. It is quite as invigorating."
Up and down hill they went, and Jean had her first experience of Devonshire lanes. She longed to get out and pick some of the wealth that bordered their path, but Christobel assured her, she would see plenty of lanes close to home.
And finally, after passing through the river, at the ford from which the farm took its name, they drove in at some white gates, and one of the prettiest old farms that Jean had ever seen lay before them.
It was of grey granite with big buttresses, covered with ivy, dividing it into three sections. Over a deep stone porch was a projecting casement window; the entrance was flagged with stone, but an old oak staircase went up in the centre of the small square hall to a long passage above, out of which all the bedrooms led.
Jean was led into a long low sitting-room, which had originally been a dining hall. Here she was welcomed by a young woman who was evidently Christobel's senior by some years. She was in a cotton shirt and dark serge skirt, but her face was a beautiful one, and a wealth of thick auburn hair was rolled off her forehead into a shapely coil behind. Very pale and weary she seemed, yet her smile seemed to warm through Jean's bones, as she expressed it afterwards.