The day was a full one, and it was late in the afternoon before he found himself rapping at the door of the house which adjoined the forge.
"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Allison, in answer to his inquiry about her mother-in-law; "she's a bit tired to-day, though going on as well as we could hope. She's had a visitor this afternoon," with a glance round at the chimney-corner from which Sally Lessing's tall, girlish figure emerged rather shyly; "and if you did not mind looking in rather earlier to-morrow she'd be ready to see you."
"Very good," said the rector. "If you'll name the time, I'll be here. Miss Lessing, our way home lies in the same direction. Shall we walk together?"
No excuse presented itself for refusing Mr. Curzon's offer, though a tête-à-tête with the rector was not much to her taste—especially as her brother was a little sore about his last night's defeat.
"How are you taking to the life down here? Do you like it?" he asked, as they started off together.
"I don't quite know," Sally said with a frank smile. "At first it was delightful—a new experience,—but the novelty is wearing off. And Paul said this morning that we were both of us fish out of water; that he must stay here, at any rate for the present, but that I might please myself."
"And what particular pond do you want to swim in?"
"London. And that's not to be described as a pond, is it? but rather a great, strong river. You see, down here, there is literally nothing to do."
"Plenty, if you choose to do it," replied Mr. Curzon, quietly.
Sally shook her head. "You would only want workers of your own way of thinking."