In the late twilight of the June evening Mrs. Goddard and Eleanor waited home together by the broad road which led towards the park gate.
"Don't you think Mr. Juxon is very kind, mamma?" asked the child.
"Yes, darling, I have no doubt he is. It was very good of him to ask you to go to the Hall."
"And he called me Miss Goddard," said Eleanor. "I wonder whether he will always call me Miss Goddard."
"He did not know your name was Nellie," explained her mother.
"Oh, I wish nobody knew, mamma. It was so nice. When shall I be grown up, mamma?"
"Soon, my child--too soon," said Mrs. Goddard with a sigh. Nellie looked at her mother and was silent for a minute.
"Mamma, do you like Mr. Juxon?" she asked presently.
"No, dear--how can one like anybody one has only seen once?"
"Oh--but I thought you might," said Nellie. "Don't you think you will, mamma? Say you will--do!"
"Why?" asked her mother in some surprise. "I cannot say anything about it. I daresay he is very nice."
"It will be so delightful to go to the Hall to dinner and be waited on by big real servants--not like Susan at the vicarage, or Martha. Won't you like it, mamma? Of course Mr. Juxon will have real servants, just like--like poor papa." Nellie finished her speech rather doubtfully as though not sure how her mother would take it. Mrs. Goddard sighed again, but said nothing. She could not stop the child's talking--why should Nellie not speak of her father? Nellie did not know.
"I think it will be perfectly delightful," said Nellie, seeing she got no answer from her mother, and as though putting the final seal of affirmation to her remarks about the Hall. But she appeared to be satisfied at not having been contradicted and did not return to the subject that evening.
Mr. Juxon lost no time in keeping his word and on the following morning at about eleven o'clock, when Mrs. Goddard was just hearing the last of Nellie's lesson in geography and little Nellie herself was beginning to be terribly tired of acquiring knowledge in such very warm weather, the squire's square figure was seen to emerge from the park gate opposite, clad in grey knickerbockers and dark green stockings, a rose in his buttonhole and a thick stick in his hand, presenting all the traditional appearance of a thriving country gentleman of the period. He crossed the road, stopped a moment and whistled his dog to heel and then opened the wicket gate that led to the cottage. Nellie sprang to the window in wild excitement.