like real life, but the
momentary fit of scepticism soon passed and Nellie read on contentedly,
not omitting however to watch her mother in order to find out, as her
small mind expressed it, "whether mamma really liked that nice Mr.
Juxon." Events were slowly preparing themselves which would help her to
come to a satisfactory conclusion upon that matter.

Mr. Juxon himself was in a very uncertain state of mind. After knowing
Mrs. Goddard for six months, and having acquired the habit of seeing her
almost every day, he found to his surprise that she formed a necessary
part of his existence. It need not have surprised him, for in spite of
that lady's surmise with regard to his early life, he was in reality a
man of generous and susceptible temperament. He recognised in the
charming tenant of the cottage many qualities which he liked, and he
could not deny that she was exceedingly pretty. Being a strong man he was
particularly attracted by the pathetic expression of her face, the
perpetual sadness that was visible there when she was not momentarily
interested or amused. Had he suspected her paleness and air of secret
suffering to be the result of any physical infirmity, she would not have
interested him so much. But Mrs. Goddard's lithe figure and easy grace of
activity belied all idea of weakness. It was undoubtedly some hidden
suffering of mind which lent that sadness to her voice and features, and
which so deeply roused the sympathies of the squire. At the end of six
months Mr. Juxon was very much interested in Mrs. Goddard, but despite
all his efforts to be agreeable he seemed to have made no progress
whatever in the direction of banishing her cares. To tell the truth, it
did not enter his mind that he was in love with her. She was his tenant;
she was evidently very unhappy about something; it was therefore
undeniably his duty as a landlord and as a gentleman to make life
easy for her.

He wondered what the matter could be. At first he had been inclined to
think that she was poor and was depressed by poverty. But though she
lived very simply, she never seemed to be in difficulties. Five hundred
pounds a year go a long way in the village of Billingsfield. It was
certainly not want of money which made her unhappy. The interest of the
sum represented by the pictures hung in her little sitting-room, not to
mention the other objects of value she possessed, would have been alone
sufficient to afford her a living. The squire